


This Love This Hate

by marysuofyay



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Really creepy stuff, Soundwave being very creepy, Technically organ transplants if you squint, repainting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysuofyay/pseuds/marysuofyay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From way back on the TF Anonymous Kink Meme, decided to repost it here because it's now long buried. A run-of-the-mill capture of several Autobots turns in to a morbid, disturbing nightmare. Soundwave takes Cliffjumper out of the cell and from there, well, things go downhill very quickly.</p>
<p>Highly disturbing themes. Violence. All the dark stuff. Yup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part The One

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO.
> 
> This thing was started waaay back in 2011 and posted on the kink meme many moons ago.
> 
> The original prompt: http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/3587.html?thread=5020419
> 
> There is also slight inspiration from: http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/3587.html?thread=4608771 if only because someone responded to 'Soundwave' with 'Cliffjumper', and I had never even considered the two in the same room before.
> 
> Since this fic is now long buried in the kink meme, I figured I’d dust it off and repost it here. I think I’ll post a chapter every day or few, depending on how I feel at the time, instead of all at once.
> 
> ENJOY.

It had all started simply enough.

Ordinary, for the most part. Boring, really. Almost mind-numbingly so; a whole lot of science stuff that just wasn't something that Cliffjumper wanted to do. He wouldn't have been there at all had he not gotten in to a fight with the twins; both he and Sunstreaker had still been confined to the brig when it had all began.

It all started when Beachcomber found some pretty rocks. Or some sort of strange boulder or something. Really, it didn't matter and he didn't care. However, with shiny science things involved, Perceptor naturally became interested and the two sciency types wouldn't go off to some remote geological sight in the middle of an island without some sort of protection. Granted, Hound had been quick to volunteer, but Prime had decided that additional guns were necessary.

Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker had stopped yelling insults at each other from their separate cells long enough for Prowl to give them their options; a choice of boring guard duty with the geeks or cleaning out a surprisingly filthy washracks.

Of course, they had both gone for the guard duty.

For a little while after that, it had all been fine. The weather was clear, Beachcomber and Perceptor were entertained and disturbingly giddy, and the rest of them had been bored out of their minds. Except for Hound. Cliffjumper never could figure out how someone could be so happy just to exist.

Then, the Decepticons had showed up. A whole lot of them, actually; more than expected for what wasn't even a patrol. There hadn't even been enough time to scatter.

They had fought, of course; they had even tried to run when it became obvious how perilously outmatched they were. A distress call had even gone out over the coms. Even with all that, it hadn't gone well; one of the very same rocks that they had gone there for blew apart and struck the side of a red helm.

Then, there had been nothing but darkness.

 

\-------------------

 

When Cliffjumper next came to, he was completely and utterly unsurprised to find himself in a cell.

What did surprise him, however, was that he was alive at all. Not only that, but so were the others; all of them had been crammed in to a single tiny cell.

At least, _most_ of them were there.

"What happened to Beachcomber?" Cliffjumper grumbled as he took stock of his systems; except for a massive dent in his helm, everything seemed to be all right. Even the damage that was there wasn't serious; just painful.

"Lucky slagger got away." Sunstreaker groused; in comparison, the yellow front liner was much worse for wear. Pink splatter -- dried and liquid alike -- covered him almost completely.

"Any idea why the fraggers dive-bombed us in the middle of nowhere?" The red minibot winced as he sat up; his head rang uncomfortably.

"Hostages?" Hound shrugged helplessly.

"The Decepticons have been surprisingly held back on revealing the nature of our capture." Perceptor frowned. "I haven't been able to garner any information outside the expected faction dispute."

Cliffjumper had to run this information through his mind several times before he could translate it. "So, you're saying we have absolutely no idea why we're here?"

The scientist frowned deeper. "Essentially."

"Great." The back of Sunstreakers' helm gently thudded against the wall. "Just great."

Eventually, the Decepticons came for them. Their footsteps rang against the metal floor of the hall long before they could be seen; four sets. Cliffjumper tried to figure out who it could be from the weight of every step taken, but he had never been very good at that sort of thing.

Earlier chatter -- as seldom and muted as it had been -- stopped completely. Instead, they gave each other wary glances; experience with their enemies alone stated that whatever the Decepticons wanted, it was likely going to be uncomfortable for the lot of them.

It wasn't long before Soundwave stepped in to view. Behind him came Thundercracker, Skywarp, and an all out pouting Starscream. The seeker trine appeared to sport sour moods all around, but the Decepticon second took it to visibly dramatic levels.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Silence reigned on both sides of the energy bars. An ever stoic Soundwave looked to Starscream as if waiting for something.

When the seeker in question did nothing but glare back, the tape deck made a vague gesture to the prisoners inside the cell. "Autobot designation Perceptor: Necessary for Lord Megatron's plans."

At once, the four Autobots were on edge.

"Well, then get the cell open." Starscream hissed, arms folded and snarling.

Hound and Sunstreaker shot to their feet before the last word had been uttered; the former stood unbalanced and it was clear that he had suffered leg damage. Perceptor stood, but seemed to shrink as shock and fear took over.

Cliffjumpers' first reaction was to reach for his guns. Finding them missing -- along with anything else remotely useful in his subspace -- fists were pulled up instead. He doubted it would do much good, especially as their wrists had been shackled, but he hoped to get at least a few good shots in.

Null rays were aimed and fired without a word; Thundercracker appeared bored, but Skywarp smirked as Hound went down. Sunstreaker swore as he followed suit. Both afflicted Autobots collapsed in to twitching heaps.

Cliffjumper took a total of two steps in front of the still shellshocked Perceptor as the energy bars shut off. Before the minibot could make any sort of attack, Soundwave grabbed his arm and held firm; a red visor stared as he twisted and flailed.

For reasons he couldn't quite figure out, Perceptor didn't struggle as Starscream pulled him out of the cell. Both shoulders were held in the seekers' grip; only a single twist was given before the scientist appeared to simply give up and walk out of his own accord.

"Perceptor!" Cliffjumper growled as he pulled against the blue hand around one arm; if it hadn't been for the chains tethering his wrists together, he would have struck out. Instead, he settled for kicking; it didn't appear to do anything. "Whatever they want, don't give it to them!"

He then glared at the Decepticon still holding him. "If you hurt him, I'll kill you! Let go!" Useless threats, he knew; still, he couldn't let this go on without a fight. A few more kicks were aimed at blue legs.

The red visor stared with no real reaction to be gauged. Cliffjumper couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking; for all he knew -- and a part of him suspected -- the Decepticon was internally laughing at his struggle.

However, that could have been the seeker actually laughing outside the cell; Skywarp practically roared. "The mini is fraggin' _adorable!_ Look, he's like one of those little toys the tiny humans carry around!"

"Are we done here?" Starscream hissed, still gripping a now shaking Perceptor by both shoulders.

"Affirmative." Soundwave finally let go of the red minibot -- if only to push him deeper in to the cell -- before stepping out.

The energy bars were quick to turn back on; Cliffjumper growled and glared between them. "I'll kill you all!"

A red visor glanced back at the cell for several seconds.

Then, the Decepticons left, Perceptor with them.

 

\--------------------

Several hours later, footfalls gained their attention once more. This time, Soundwave returned alone. Strangely, the Decepticon third in command didn't approach the cell; instead, he stopped just far enough away to be seen and to stare back.

With the distance kept and the way his visor never seemed to focus on any one thing, it was difficult to tell what he was staring at, let alone why. He could have been staring at any one of them, the group of them together, or at the wall; they simply couldn't tell.

By then, the earlier blasted null rays had worn off; the three of them sat together, ever wary in their predicament.

“…The slag…?” Cliffjumper risked a murmur several long minutes in to the bizarre staring.

"Hey!" Sunstreaker dared an all out yell at the Decepticon. "What'd you do with Perceptor?! Where is he?!"

Soundwave did not respond. In fact, there wasn't so much as a twitch to acknowledge he had heard the questions at all; instead, he continued to stare.

The red visor didn't stop looking inside the cell for nearly ten full minutes. Every demand, question and threat was ignored in silent stoicism. Eventually -- and with no clear sign or sound to set off the change -- Soundwave turned and left without a word.

Silence reigned for several seconds afterwards.

"Well… That was creepy." Hound boggled. "What do you think _that_ was all about?"

——————

Several more hours passed before Perceptor was returned. The condition in which he came back in, however, came as a complete and utter surprise.

He was unharmed. Shaken, visibly distraught, but otherwise unharmed. Unnatural, given the way Decepticons tended to do things.

"They want me to build a weapon." Stated before any of them could ask; it came in a subdued, shellshocked whisper.

"A weapon?" Hound frowned. "That's what all this is about?"

A slow nod came from the scientist. "From what I understand, Megatron either doesn't trust his own people to build the device to proper specifications or believes that I am the only one capable of doing so."

Several seconds of stunned silence passed.

“…But you're not actually going to _build_ it, right?" Sunstreaker sputtered. "Slag, that'd just be stupid."

"I don't think I have all that much of a choice." Perceptor looked to the floor, optics wide in horror. "Megatron threatened to torture and murder the rest of you if I didn't comply with his demands."

"Then let him." Cliffjumper growled. "He's probably gonna do it anyway."

"Hate to say it…” Hound visibly winced. "But Cliffjumper's probably right."

Sunstreaker snorted. "If anything, we'd be the first ones they test this doomsday weapon of the week on."

“…But…” Perceptor glanced up, gaze flickering between the three of them. "I have absolutely no doubt that, at the very least --"

"Perceptor." Hound interrupted with a stern stare; he even grabbed the scientists' arm. "It's going to be okay. If you have to build it, sabotage it. Buy us time. Prime isn't going to leave us here to rust. They'll come for us."

Slowly, a shaking Perceptor nodded. “…All right. All right."

Perceptor, Cliffjumper thought, was sometimes too smart for his own good.

In the following hours that the Decepticons left them together, the scientist did nothing but fret. Pacing had even been attempted, but that was quickly given up on. Probably because the cell was just too small.

The entire time, conversation was kept to a minimum; what was there was just to try and calm the scientist down from his worries. Not that the situation wasn't something to worry about, it was just out of their control. Or, at least, he thought so.

Things were probably going to go to slag and it was probably going to hurt like the Pit when it did, but no sense in going insane over it before it actually happened. They were warriors -- or, at least, they all _should_ be, as far as he was concerned --, and they needed to be able to handle these things. They were in a war, after all.

If they ever got out of here, he was going to request that the geeks be confined to the Ark. At least, that way, Megatron wouldn't be tempted to kidnap the smart ones any more.

After a while, of course, the Decepticons came back. The footsteps further down the hall was their only warning sign; once they heard it, Perceptor stood and backed in to a corner. Cliffjumper felt a rush of annoyance at that, but he wasn't certain if it was due to the visible cowardice or at whoever was coming.

He was unsurprised to find the same group from the last time; the ever stoic Soundwave, a bored-looking Thundercracker, a grinning Skywarp, and a Starscream that looked like he would rather be watching paint dry than be there.

Starscream glared at Soundwave. Soundwave made that same gesture to the cell as he had the last time. _Something_ certainly happened there, between those two; whatever it was, he wished he knew. It would be nice to know what annoyed Starscream so much.

This time, however, no words had to be said; no order had to be given off. Skywarp let out a shrill laugh before firing both null rays in different directions; Hound went down and then, shockingly, Perceptor.

It came rather suddenly; it was enough of a surprise that even the rest of the Decepticons stared at the cackling seeker with stunned expressions.

“…What the frag, 'Warp?" Thundercracker boggled.

"I haven’t shot anything in nearly a _week_ , TC. Or gotten to do anything!" Skywarp grinned. "That felt good, though."

"Autobot Perceptor: Required conscious." Soundwave somehow managed to sound annoyed.

"Uh…” Skywarp blinked. Then, he pulled up his null rays again and fired; this time, a gaping Sunstreaker collapsed. “…Just grab him and wait for him to wake up. Not like it'd take that long."

Cliffjumper's jaw dropped at the insanity; he was not surprised to see Starscream glower at his trinmate.

Still, the energy bars shut off; it shook the red minibot out of the stunned surprise he had been in. Steps were taken in front of Perceptor; the previous tactic of charging hadn't worked. Perhaps standing his ground would.

It didn't; as Soundwave approached, he got all of one punch in before his arm was grabbed. With his wrists shackled, he couldn't do much more than struggle and kick; much like the last time, it did nothing.

Cliffjumper growled; as the seekers grabbed Perceptor to drag his unmoving frame out of the cell, he expected to be tossed to the floor. He braced for the impact.

Instead, the blue hand gripping his arm did not let go; instead, it tugged to pull him out of the cell.

The minibot sputtered; confusion flared for all of three seconds. Then, theories formed; they were probably going to threaten or -- more likely -- torture him to get Perceptor's cooperation. "You slagging glitch! Let go!"

The seekers said nothing from in front; Skywarp smirked and chuckled, but the trio otherwise focused on their paralyzed captive. 

Soundwave glanced back; he stared for several seemingly long seconds before looking back towards the trine. He couldn't tell what the Decepticon third-in-command was thinking; Cliffjumper could never be sure with the visor-face guard combination.

They walked slowly. Perceptor, although paralyzed and hunched over as the seekers dragged him, somehow managed to look at Cliffjumpers' direction. The minibot knew from experience that a null ray shot didn't necessarily mean unconsciousness; Perceptor was probably fully aware of what was going on and was probably internally panicking about it.

Cliffjumper huffed and pulled at the grip on his arm; he knew how this was likely going to go. They'd both be dragged to wherever they were heading, Perceptor would refuse to work or try to plead for his safety, he'd get beaten up until Perceptor gave in, and it would just get stupid from there. It wouldn't be the first time the Decepticons had done something like this.

The minibot was fully prepared for this to go on as he assumed. However, he did not expect to be separated; at a fork in the hall, Soundwave quietly made the turn as the seekers continued to go straight.

"What the frag?" Cliffjumper sputtered as he stared at Perceptor's body as it was dragged a different way. "Hey, where'r you taking me?!" Another tug on his arm was given.

There was no answer; Soundwave didn't even so much as glance back. The seeker trine with Perceptor either didn't notice or didn't care about the separation.

"Glitch!" The minibot snarled; wherever he was being taken, it probably wasn't going to be good.


	2. Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND IT CONTINUES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back on the original publishing dates, I'm amused that it took me a month to get to the porn.
> 
> WHICH ISN'T IN THIS CHAPTER. Bahahah.

The hallways were long. Nothing but seemingly endless stretches of doors with flat slates of gray identical to one another and so close together; if there hadn’t been so many of them, Cliffjumper would have thought them to be closets. Instead, they resembled the same kind of room doors used on the ARK.

The journey was taking longer than he thought it would; where he was even being taken, he didn’t know. Questions, threats and a spare kick he had managed to get in were completely ignored by the stoic Decepticon dragging him. The blue hand gripping his upper arm held firm; the minibot tried to pull away multiple times with no success.

Along the way, theories were reformed anew; just because he had been separated from Perceptor, it didn’t necessarily mean that it wasn’t related. Perhaps he was being taken to a room with a camera, someplace they could torture him where he couldn’t be heard; someplace he couldn’t tell the scientist to not give in or that he could take more of whatever it was their captors intended to do to him.

The idea made as much sense as anything else he could think of. Though, why he was being taken so far away was something he couldn’t explain. A natural sound barrier? Did they have a very specific torture room?

As Soundwave lead him on, the doors became further apart. Numbers stationed by each entryway – the only way to tell them apart, really – were getting smaller. Triple digits became double as they turned yet another corner.

Cliffjumper didn’t bother to actually ask where they were going; he had been ignored before and doubted he would be answered now. He wondered if the long walk was intended to increase his fear and nervousness; he grit his dentals as rage grew instead.

It had been insulting enough that the seekers hadn’t considered him enough of a threat to shoot at him; did they really think forcing him to go all this way would turn him to a blubbering wreck? Did they really think this sort of fear tactic would work on him? If that was the reasoning, Cliffjumper was eager to prove them wrong.

Eventually, they stopped. A door that looked just like all the others slid open with a soft sigh; Cliffjumper braced himself for the stereotypical; a chair with straps, spattered gore and pointy machines.

Instead, calming colors on the walls and furniture waited inside. It was a surprisingly large room, larger than most personal suites that he knew of; a berth lay flush against the far wall, a work bench with an organized array of tools stood near the door, and there was even what looked like a small living room with screens, chairs and tables of various sizes banked to the right.

This was someone’s berthroom; this wasn’t what he expected at all.

With this new sight came sudden recollection. There had been rumors, of course, of what Decepticons sometimes did with their prisoners; they were, after all, a vicious and cruel faction. The sort of people that took pleasure from unwilling bodies, or so the whispers had said. No one had ever spoken doubt about it out loud, but no one would talk about that sort of thing in deep detail, either.

Still, this _was_ a berthroom; Cliffjumper dug his ankles in to the floor and tried to pull back.

It didn’t work, of course; Soundwave gave a harsh pull that nearly sent him tumbling over. As the red Autobot stumbled, the much taller Decepticon turned sharply and grabbed both of the prisoners’ upper arms.

Soundwave physically lifted the minibot in the air; with a startled yelp, Cliffjumper flailed. Somehow, he was surprised to not be carried to the berth; instead, he was set atop a nearby chair and made to stand on it.

Even on top of the chair, he didn’t reach Soundwave’s full height.

A moment to stabilize himself wasn’t spared. One blue hand let go of his arm; the other grabbed his chin and forced him to stare up at a visored faceplate. Reflex alone had him grabbing at the offending limb in the attempt to tear it away.

The expression on Soundwave’s face – as limited as it was with both a mask and visor there – came as a surprise. The red band in question was wide; stunned or surprise was the minibots’ best guess.

A moment of silence passed; blue optics stared at red. Neither flinched, although wary confusion grew on the former.

“Resemblance: Uncanny.” It came as a hushed whisper from the Decepticon.

Cliffjumper sputtered. “What the frag are you talking about?” He tried to jerk his helm away, but the grip on his jaw held firm.

His head was slowly tilted to the left; his own hands trying to pull the blue arm away did nothing.

“Faceplate: Matches exact specifications.” Somehow, Soundwave managed to sound awed.

Cliffjumper didn’t know how what the Decepticon was talking about, but an uncomfortable chill had begun to creep along his spinal strut; something was very wrong, here, and he couldn’t quite place it. A spare glance was sent along what part of the room he could see in search of cameras or something to support earlier theories; nothing was found.

A noise to the side startled him; with his face held, he could only see Soundwave’s arm moving. Something on the work bench behind him let out the sound of small pieces moving and hitting each other; his captor was searching for something.

“What’r you doing?” Cliffjumper tried to look, jerking in the hold. Growing fear eked in to his voice and he cringed inwardly at how he sounded. He took a breath and tried again. “What the _frag_ are you doing?!”

Soundwave’s free hand came up in to his line of sight for just a moment, holding something small between two fingers; a small, round device with a plug on one end. It was easy to recognize the medical access plug for what it was.

Instantly, Cliffjumper jumped and struggled; he kicked out, trying to gain some sort of leverage or freedom. Something was going to be plugged in to him, and he didn’t know what it was, but it probably wasn’t anything good. A virus? A hacking program? Something worse?

Swearing had about as much of an effect as his flailing did; the hand on his face still held as if it were something solid instead of a living Cybertronian limb; the other scratched at the back of his neck in search of the medical access port nearly all Cybertronians on either faction held.

It didn’t take long to find it; Cliffjumper swore when he felt the hatch tear open and the device snap inside.

His HUD flared red; for a moment, all that the Autobot could see were warning lights and ominous words.

**Sedation protocols accepted: Effect in 3… 2… 1…**

Then, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, the title I gave the first chapter is much more witty than I intended.


	3. Paint!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painting and confusion, hurrah!

The sound of falling water was the first thing that Cliffjumper became aware of. At first, that was all that there was; a slightly muffled torrent of falling droplets.

Was that rain? He couldn't quite recall what had happened or why he would be outside in the first place. Had there been a fight? It wouldn't have been the first time he came to in the middle of an ongoing battle or soon afterwards.

It took several minutes to get another one of his senses to work. The short amount of time was somehow calming; possibly because he heard no explosions and felt no pain. Something in his HUD flashed a brilliant red, but it was in the corner and didn't seem all too important.

Vision returned not too long after. His optics lit alight with a brilliant flash that briefly blinded his own systems. Then, he gazed upon the not so grand view of a flat metal floor.

Not outside, then, or rain. A round indent in the floor was quickly recognized as a drain; water? What looked like soap bubbles and dark spots swirled around and down the pipe.

Was he in the washracks? How did he end up unconscious in the washracks? Had he suffered some sort of glitch? Recollection was still hazy; the memory files seemed to be just out of his reach.

He tried to move; it was as if a great weight held him down. There felt what seemed to be an invisible hold along every inch of his frame; even twitching a finger proved impossible.

Well, now he was starting to worry. Even moving his optics proved to be difficult; the sensors whined, drifted at a terribly slow speed, and then skipped back to their original position with a dizzying retch.

The red flash in his HUD was still there. With confusion bearing down, the warning was opened up.

**Sedation Protocols: In Effect**

Internally, Cliffjumper boggled. He tried to override and cancel the program.

**Denied: Medical Code Required for Override**

A _medical_ program? Had Ratchet put that in? Why was he in -

Recollection finally hit; it struck hard and sent a sudden wave of panic through his systems.

_Soundwave!_ Now, Cliffjumper remembered; the attack, the capture and being taken out of the cell. He couldn't move; he could barely even see.

The world shifted; the gaze to the drain swam. Suddenly, he was staring at a wall.

For a moment, he was left stunned; then, he realized he had been moved. Turned over, it looked like; there was a very distant pressure on his back, but, other than that, he had felt nothing at all.

What sort of program was this? It seemed to dull his very sense of touch as well as everything else.

Panic was slowing in to a confused sort of worry; he wasn't in any pain -- although he couldn't really feel anything physically, now that he thought about it --, and nothing other than the water and soap seemed to be going on.

Although there was someone else in the room -- someone had to have turned him over just now, after all --, it wasn't as if he could do much about that with the program running.

His line of sight was still part way on the floor; he could still see water swirling. Those dark patches he had seen before reflected differently in this new angle of light; inconsistent flaky splotches. Red, most of it.

Wait. Was that… Paint?

His sense of smell was still out and he couldn't feel anything, but was whoever was in here _stripping off his paint?_

If so, why?

There were no answers and he couldn't get his own systems to do much of anything. He couldn't even speak; there wasn't even a click from his vocalizer to acknowledge the order. A strange sort of sensory deprivation; it was terribly unnerving.

The worry persisted, drugged or not, through the long stretch of minutes. Minutes eventually turned to an hour; through it all, he was manually turned and shifted by hands that felt like almost nothing.

After what felt like an impossibly long time, his unmoving frame was turned on to his back. With vision locked, Cliffjumper stared the seemingly long distance up at a towering dark blue body.

Somehow, he was unsurprised to find it had been Soundwave this entire time. A scrub brush was still in one hand.

The Decepticon said nothing; he knelt, lifted the minibot in to a sitting position, and quietly scrubbed soap in to his captive's helm.

This was all thoroughly disturbing; Cliffjumper didn't know what the Decepticon was playing at or why he was doing this, but he did not like being handled the way that he was.

His head was tilted forward to scrub at the back; he could see some parts of his own body, now. As expected, every shred of red paint was gone; gleaming gray and white shone back, as pristine as a newly forged bot. It was creepy; color was definition. Only the dead, dying or newsparked had nothing.

Why was Soundwave doing this? He had obviously gone through a great deal of trouble to get him in here, sedate him, and spend who knew how long getting every bit of paint off of his body. Was this some sort of psychological attack? Shake him up and send him back to the others? Or a recording? What was the point of this?

How long had he even been out? His systems may be dulled, but his chronometer still appeared to work. A quick glance at the constantly running program -

_Four hours?!_ He had been sedated for a little less than four hours on top of the hour he had spent awake. What could have been done in five hours in enemy hands, other than getting his paint torn off? A panic-filled run of his systems came back clean, sedatives notwithstanding; no damage, no scrapes and no dents.

There had been damage to his helm, before; the large, painful dent from the initial capture was now gone. Repaired, according to the feedback. Had Soundwave actually repaired him? Now this was starting to disturb him on a number of levels.

He was missing something. Cliffjumper knew that something important was just out of his understanding; he was dreading finding out what it was.

Some time later, the shower was turned off. Once the water stopped flowing, Soundwave lifted the unmoving minibot in to his arms with a carefulness that was nothing short of confusing; there was an extraordinary amount of care being taken that conflicted with everything Cliffjumper knew about prisoners of war.

He didn’t like this. Something was very, very wrong and he didn’t understand it.

Several short steps were taken to a less wet portion of the washracks; even with limited vision, he caught a glimpse of the towel before blue hands were pressing it along his frame. Still with the same slow care; it was as if Soundwave was afraid he would break apart.

The towel -- and the hand controlling it -- went everywhere. It pressed at places Cliffjumper would have fought against had he been able to move. Still, his senses were dulled; he was a little glad that he couldn't feel more than that odd, distant pressure. If he had been able to feel everything to the fullest extent but still unable to move, he wasn't certain he would have been able to handle it.

His gaze was aimed at the far wall; he stared at it and tried not to think about where that hand was going.

After a time, Soundwave tossed the towel aside. Then, he turned and walked out of the washracks with the formerly red minibot still in his arms. A door swished open, but now his head had lolled against a blue and gold chest; all he could see was the masked and visored face hovering above.

Cliffjumper shut off his optics; if something terrible was going to happen -- which he was certain it probably was --, he didn't want to stare at the face of his probable torturer until he absolutely had to.

Something pressed at his back; he lit his optics again to realize he had been set down on a hard surface. It took a moment to realize it was the work bench he had been stood next to earlier.

A sudden light flooded his vision; several lamps were turned on around him, light focused on his frame from toe to tip. When his frame of view adjusted, he caught a brief glimpse of Soundwave walking away.

Nearby, there came the sound of another door opening and closing. Then, there was nothing but a long stretch of silence and baffled fear.

He had to figure out what was going on. He had been sedated, repaired, and removed of his paint by an enemy that he assumed would sooner kill him or torture him for information than anything else. What did that tell him? What were the Decepticons up to that they needed to do this?

Thoughts were still swirling, trying to gain some sort of mental foothold to work with, when the door slid open again. Ill-working vision was struggled against; Cliffjumper managed to get the sensors in his optics to move ever so slightly to the side as a soft ‘thud’ came from nearby.

Two small tins had been dropped on the floor. Soundwave stood next to them and seemed to be holding something in his hands. Cliffjumper couldn’t quite see what it was; his optic sensors were refusing to budge again. At least he could see the tins.

Whatever was in Soundwaves hands were set on the table. Then, the blue Decepticon turned to open the containers on the floor; colored liquid swirled once the lids were off. Paint?

Was Soundwave actually going to repaint him? What was _happening_ here?

This had to be some sort of confusionary mental tactic or something; none of this made any sense whatsoever. Cliffjumper stared at the colors; a deep, bold shade of blue only a few shades lighter than Soundwave himself and a gleaming, solid white. The blue can was pulled closer to the table.

He heard rather then felt the brush along his frame; the swish of the bristles against metal was the only sound save for the low rumbles of two living bodies. The minibot was still disturbed by the lack of feeling.

He was going to kill him. Once the sedative wore off, he was going to kill Soundwave for whatever crazy plan a forced repainting was part of. For a short while, Cliffjumper fantasized about the number of ways he could murder the Decepticon; not as if there was anything else to do.

The silence was broken an undetermined amount of time later by a strong rumble. It took the inert minibot a moment to realize it came from Soundwave himself; the Decepticon still appeared to be painting what he thought was his leg. Was that the Decepticon’s fans whirring? It took some concentration to realize that, yes, it was Soundwave’s fans letting out that small roar. The Decepticon in question shifted in place.

Internally, Cliffjumper swore in disbelief; was Soundwave _aroused?_ He sincerely hoped it was simply hot in the room and he couldn’t feel it. That was a possibility, wasn’t it? With the lamps lit as strong as they were, that could be possible. The sedatives were just keeping his own systems from responding properly. Never mind that his HUD had no reports of overheating despite that he was directly under the lights.

The fans roared louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: DARK THINGS. Also, porn. DARK PORN. YES.


	4. Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE DARK ANGSTY PORN TIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little thing that follows was the first time I ever wrote any sort of porn. And it's all angsty. And probably terrible.
> 
> I'm also giving minor edits to this thing along the way, because, why not, I can.
> 
> Wheeeee.

The paint took a very long time to dry. The initial shocked few seconds following the disturbing rumble of Soundwave’s systems and the subsequent panic dulled with the minutes that followed.

Minutes slowly turned in to much longer. Paralyzed and unable to do more than blink, Cliffjumper was almost bored with the seemingly very long stretch of time. Almost; the unceasing whir of Soundwave’s fans was a constant reminder of where he was.

The Decepticon in question made no sound other than his obvious arousal. It was really rather surprising; upon first hearing it, the captive Autobot had been positive things would go from bad to worse within short order. Instead, Soundwave seemed to take his time; blue paint was meticulously applied, inspected with an optic band hovering above whatever limb had been worked on, and then moved on. The first layer just on the front of the minibots’ frame took nearly an hour, and that was before the white details had been applied.

The attention to said details had been disturbing; even with his limited vision and the stubborn sedation program, Cliffjumper could tell that at least a dozen different brushes were being used.

If paint wasn’t removable, he might have been far deeper in to worry than he already was. After all, shade was paramount in telling people apart; two frames of the same mold could be identical if not for the difference in color. It was why the ARK, with it’s limited resources, always had a stock pile of paint and supplies; otherwise, battle damage alone would have rendered them gray, gritty and unidentifiable.

This was fixable, though. What Soundwave was doing was, in fact, fixable. Paint stripper, the shade of red he held as his own, and the hopeful murder of Soundwave somewhere along the way and everything would be fine again. Things would go back to normal.

He just had to be able to move, first.

The white-tipped brush was painting lines along his horns. Or, he thought it was; he still couldn’t feel it. However, his audios were working, and the bristles weren’t far off. For all he really knew, Soundwave was painting splotches and spirals.

After a time, the brush was set aside. Soundwave took a step back and stared at the inert minibot; the optic band roved over the still frame. Internally, Cliffjumper shuddered at the gaze.

Several seconds of inspection passed. Then, a gleaming red band rested on a paralyzed faceplate for what felt like far too long. Cliffjumper stared back, trying to glare despite being unable to so much as shift his own optical sensors.

A blue hand came close with a slow, seemingly hesitant grace; it rested on the minibot’s faceplate – the only part that had not been repainted – and tilted the still drying helm ever so slightly to the side. Soundwave continued to stare.

There came a soft _click_ ; then, the Decepticon’s face guard slide apart and folded aside.

Cliffjumper was left stunned; somehow, he had never thought that there had been anything under that face guard. Certainly not an ordinary mouth; possibly because he never had reason to think about such things before. Even now, he found himself thinking that, unmasked, Soundwave was rather unattractive. Ugly, really, with a long, thin mouth that didn’t look quite _right_.

He still couldn’t move, although he tried to cancel the sedation program for what felt like the millionth time when that ugly faceplate came close. All he could get his vocalizer to do was click – the closest to a denial – when they kissed.

Both blue hands set themselves on the minibots’ faceplate as the kiss extended from a simple peck to something far more passionate. Something felt wet and Cliffjumper was absolutely certain a glossa was involved; he continued to click in a helpless sort of rage.

He was going to kill Soundwave when he was able to move again. It didn’t matter what the Decepticon did to him, he was going to find a way to kill him for this.

Still, panic was starting to rear, again; he couldn’t move, and a thumb was stroking his lax faceplate in a decidedly unwanted manner. Soundwave said nothing, but actions spoke about his intentions far too clear.

Just when the Autobot began to think that it would get far more terrible very quickly, Soundwave stopped. He went rigid, halting at a start; after a short moment, he pulled away from the kiss and looked down.

Optic sensors were struggled against, but a brief glance was managed; Soundwave had set his hand on the minibots’ chest and now came back wet with paint that had not yet dried.

Soundwave frowned. Then, the face guard slid back in to place before he stepped back and quickly left his captives’ frame of vision.

Cliffjumper could do nothing more than lie there, mind swirling in stunned disbelief. Oh, he was fragged. He was literally going to _get_ fragged. ‘Bad’ didn’t quite describe it; this was far worse than that.

In the distance, what sounded like a shower turned on. It shut off after only a few seconds; not too long after that, Soundwave stepped back in to view.

The brush was picked up again and a small chest repainted once more. Then, Soundwave took a step back to stare at the body.

After a moment, the Decepticon third in command turned and walked out of the room. A door slid shut as he left

\-------

 

Cliffjumper knew that he was in trouble. There was no doubt about it; Soundwave was clearly far more disturbed than he had ever realized.

As an enemy on the battlefield, Soundwave had always come across as one of those emotionless types. The sort of enemy that would rather kill you and count it as a battle stat than feel the need for a drawn out torture. Captured was another matter; there had been more than a few rumors of how vicious an interrogator the stoic Decepticon could be. Still, he had always come across as someone after results, not after entertainment.

This was beyond anything he could have ever conceived of. 

The idea of the Decepticons _themselves_ , as a whole, assaulting Autobot prisoners wasn’t out of the scope of impossibility, but it had been one of those things that everyone whispered about but never really dwelled on for too long. A fear that, although present, wasn’t _omnipresent_.

Though, it was _Soundwave_ being the attacker that was most bizarre. The concept of the unfeeling third in command doing such a thing sounded almost incredulous; he had joked with Gears and Windcharger just the other day that Soundwave had probably never fragged anything in his life.

Now, here he was, unable to move and on a table, waiting for the paint to dry.

This was sickening. The more he thought about it, the more the horror seeped through his systems. Was this even connected to the others, any more? Did Perceptor even know he was in here, or was this all Soundwave’s sick idea of fun?

Maybe it still was. Maybe there was a chance he would get tossed back in to the cell after Soundwave was done. Cliffjumper supposed it would certainly disturb the others to see him repainted. Perhaps Soundwave wasn’t going to force an interface after all; his fans had gone on, certainly, but he could have just been aroused by the painting thing. It could have been done just to disturb him and cause panic.

It was _possible_ , wasn’t it?

———

 

Eventually, Soundwave came back. When he did, fingertips were set on his captives’ helm and then inspected. When the paint did not rub off, the limp body was carefully turned on to the other side.

Now, Cliffjumper faced the wall. Still, he heard the tins of paint clank against each other and the paint brush move along his frame.

It took just as long as it had the first time. As time ticked by, Cliffjumper tried not to think about where it was probably going to end up when this was done. He wasn’t afraid – he would never admit to that, not even to himself – but being as helpless as he was infuriated him.

He wanted to move. He wanted to get up and bash that blue helm in until it was no longer recognizable. Even if he was only brought back to the cell and to the others, at least he would be able to _move._

When the painting was finished, this time, there was no disturbing kiss forced on him. Instead, there was retreating footfalls and silence. The paint was left to dry.

Soundwave returned what felt like far too soon. A distant pressure landed gently on the minibots’ backside; Cliffjumper had the feeling it was a hand. It retreated soon enough; checking on the paint, most likely.

Then, a deep, slow intake broke the silence.

Hands moved underneath him and turned him over; when his optics adjusted, Cliffjumper realized he was being held in the Decepticon’s arms again. Soundwave walked; the minibot had to struggle with his own frame just to see where they were going.

They were headed for the berth. Unsurprising, but the knowing didn’t make it any less terrible. He would have struggled had he been able; he tried to, but his own body refused to listen. He still couldn’t do anything other than click or blink.

If Soundwave didn’t know he was awake and aware, he certainly did now; attempts to yell, to swear, or to make any sort of noise only let out a long series of _clickclickclickclick_.

If Soundwave even cared, he gave no sign. Instead, he simply set the minibot on the berth; the small-in-comparison frame was laid out with care. The minibots’ helm was even rested on a pillow. The berth dwarfed him.

Unfortunately, the pillow propped up his helm and set his gaze directly on his own body and, consequently, the lower part of Soundwave as well.

Was this how this was going to happen? Unable to move, unable to speak, laid out like a banquet for a disturbed Decepticon? Unable to do anything at all but bear witness to his own defilement?

He wondered if this was going to hurt. He couldn’t feel his own body – everything was distant, muffled – and he wondered if he would even be able to feel it when it happened. He hoped he wouldn’t.

Soundwave was rubbing his captives’ leg; the caress was slow and seemingly tender. The other hand grasped at the minibots’ crotch plate; thick blue digits fingered at the numerous tiny latches holding it in place. After several minutes of light molestation, the latches were casually flicked apart, one after the other, before the entire panel was removed entirely.

Even with sensation dulled, the sudden wash of cool air on his nude interface array came as a shock. Cliffjumper gave up on trying to make noise when his own panel was set someplace he couldn’t see.

He heard a _click_ that wasn’t his own; then, despite not being able to see it, Cliffjumper knew that Soundwaves’ panel came loose. At first, he didn’t see much of anything other than the Decepticon’s legs; then, from the very top of his vision, he saw _it_ extend.

All minibots, at some point or another, went to the berth with a larger frame type. It just happened, either from first time curiosity or from grown personal taste. Usually, the larger partner made certain considerations just to make up for the size difference; things to make it more than enjoyable for the minibot in question. Cliffjumper had done it himself more than a few times.

He had the feeling none of those pleasentries would be taken, here. If he didn’t feel this now, he almost definitely was going to feel it later.

He shut his optics off. If this was going to happen, he didn’t have to _look_ at it.

The hand on his leg moved up. He felt something shift; the berth below him tilted briefly. Then, a strong pressure covered him and hot air blew past his helm. Optics lit up just to make sure that suspicions were correct before shutting off again; Soundwave was on top of him.

With the size difference and their interface equipment as close as they were, he still came up only to his shoulders. His feet probably didn’t even reach the Decepticons’ knees.

Another click; then, that mouth was on his own again. Hands were rubbing his sides; Soundwaves’ fans blew hot air in to what felt like everywhere.

He could endure this. The paint was fixable and he still couldn’t feel. He could endure this. He didn’t know what was going to happen afterwards, but he could get through this. He just had to wait it out, wait until he could move again, and figure it out from there.

Soundwave couldn’t keep him trapped in his own body forever. He couldn’t keep him as some kind of living doll; he _wouldn’t_. He would be able to move eventually. He just had to wait.

The hands were getting aggressive; they rubbed between his thighs just below his valve but for some reason avoided touching it. The glossa against his own disengaged, but only to kiss along his mouth and the side of his face. Soundwave laughed.

The sound shook him; it was the strangest noise he had ever heard. It was a bizarre, unsettling thing and left him rattled.

There came a pressure between his legs. Then, his valve stretched; he could actually feel it when it did, when the cord forced the normally sensitive cluster of wires and dermal plating apart. It was as strange as it was horrible; short pinpricks of pain started to erupt.

How badly was he being stretched that he could actually _feel_ it? The sedation program kept everything off; how badly was he being damaged?

Still, the cord pushed deeper; the needle-like lances merged in to a dull throb all along his valve. His vocalizer clicked without his realization; even with the almost impossibly slow thrust, it still _hurt_. The minibots’ HUD flashed in warning.

**Warning: Valve Maximum Capacity Breached**

Well, that was probably why he was able to feel it.

Soundwave stilled; fans whirred louder. Intakes came in deep as the Decepticon simply lied there, cord probably – hopefully – all inside his prisoners’ valve.

Suddenly, Cliffjumper realized it had barely begun; that has just been an entry of sorts. Soundwave hadn’t even begun to _move_ yet.

After a moment, he _did_ ; Soundwave pulled out with all the slow precision he had going in. Briefly, there was relief; then, he pushed in again, quicker than before.

Cliffjumper tried to get a mental grasp on the sudden pain that came with it, only for Soundwave to begin thrusting in earnest.

It hurt; it hurt and he couldn’t move. Granted, the pain was mostly tolerable – he had felt worse on the battlefield –, but the fact that he could feel it at all gave terrible insight to what he was probably going to feel later.

This was actually happening. This was rape. Soundwave was actually raping him. The word hit like a brick to the head; this was rape. This was real.

Cliffjumper kept his optics shut down. A stab of pain came every time Soundwave hit the top of his valve; he hoped nothing was torn. That was going to hurt like the pit later, he assumed, if it was. Even though he had never known anyone with a torn valve, he had still heard about how terrible it was.

The hands didn’t stop; they continued to roam and caress. Soundwave’s mouth began to suck and lick at a recently painted neck; it was disgusting. Through it all, the much taller frame let out an almost melodic hum; it took a while to realize that Soundwave was actually moaning.

He could endure this. If Soundwave thought he was going to break down, he had another thing coming. He could endure this.

“Carerra.” That came from Soundwave. “Carerra.”

…Was that a name? Was Soundwave actually moaning _someone else’s name?_

Rage suddenly flared. Anger swept through Cliffjumpers’ mind from the utterance; did Soundwave even know what his name _was_? It was literally adding insult to injury to say someone else’s name during such a thing. After all, Soundwave had gone to the trouble of repainting him and had never even bothered to find out –

Soundwave had repainted him. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to put in meticulous detail work for the sole reason of taking him to the berth. Now, he was saying someone else’s name.

_Oh, frag._

Soundwave overloaded.


	5. PLASTIC SURGERY

Soundwave fell in to stasis. As soon as the overload had hit, the Decepticon had slumped on to his paralyzed victim with nothing more than the sound of his fans cooling down.

For what felt like a very long time, nothing happened. The heat billowing off of Soundwave's form began to lessen; the pressure of his body went stagnant, unchanging from lack of movement. However, he was still there; he hadn't even pulled his cord out.

It felt… Sticky. Cliffjumper found that he didn't have many words to describe it; the rush of liquid had filled his valve and he could feel quite a bit of it on his thighs. Sticky, wet, and somehow crawling.

Interface wasn't supposed to be that way. He had gone to the berth with larger frame types before -- he had been fragged and been the one _to_ frag --, but it had always ended with him satiated and with a pleasant buzz. Granted, he had almost always ended up with a limp for several days afterwards -- most minibots did, when they chose to go for larger berthmates -- but even that had been with a sense of pride.

He had never felt this way before. The transfluid seeping out of him itched terribly despite the sedation program still muting his senses. It was as if a herd of scraplets had decided to make the crux between his legs their home and moved about with hundreds of tiny little legs. It didn't help that the cord, stuffed to the brim as it was, pressed against the valve lining as far as it would go. Possibly further; Cliffjumper couldn't recall the warnings his HUD flashed ever popping up like that in previous interfacing sessions.

He still couldn't move. The sedation program had no timer, no warnings and nothing to show that it could or would fade away on its own. The same 'medical override required' was like a nail in the coffin; Soundwave likely had the ability to take it down, but there was no guarantee that he would.

Soundwave couldn't just keep him like this, could he? The Decepticons would never let a potential hostage stay paralyzed and with Soundwave for as long as he pleased. He had to let him be able to move again. He had to let him _go_ eventually, didn’t he? Back to the cell?

He really didn't want to consider the possibility that, no, he didn’t; of being trapped inside his own body and fragged whenever Soundwave pleased.

Worried contemplation lasted for several very long minutes. Then, Soundwave stirred.

Optics were hesitantly onlined. Cliffjumper stared at the much larger frame as he staggered back and finally, finally pulled his cord out. There came a loud pop when he did, when coagulating liquid squeaked with friction. Internally, Cliffjumper shuddered in disgust.

Soundwave said nothing. He stared at his captive for several seconds as his face guard slid back in to place. Then, he turned and walked away. A moment later, the sound of a shower turning on echoed throughout the room.

This was disgusting. Transfluid was still everywhere; Cliffjumper wasn't even left the dignity to move, to be able to get out of the mess on his own. Internally, his mind rallied in a mix of fury, hate and loathing. He tried to yell again, tried to swear; all he spat out were clicks.

The minibot was still trying to yell when Soundwave returned. The Decepticon held a small towel in one hand; Cliffjumper stared at it incredulously. He knew what was going to happen, now, and braced himself for discomfort.

Attempts to scream curses came out as nothing more than a cicada hum of clicks when the towel was pressed inside of him. Thick blue fingers moved it inside his valve, slowly scraping along the lining. Soundwave may have been taking care with his prisoner, but the distant pressure uncomfortable both physically and mentally.

Eventually, the towel was gone. Along with it was just about every drop of transfluid; all that was left were faint smears on the berth and small scratches on brand new blue paint. Soundwave walked away again, tossing the towel in to a nearby bin as he went; he appeared to be ready to leave. At least, he was headed for the door.

Was he really just going to leave him there? Was he just going to leave him like _this_? Left in a vicious cycle of paralysis and interface until someone else put a stop to it, if anyone ever did?

No, wait, Soundwave had stopped; he was checking the drawers in the desk by the door. There came a sort of relief that he wasn't leaving just yet, that there was a chance the program would be turned off.

There it was; the medical plug that had been used before. Soundwave held it on one hand, closed the drawer with the other, and began to make his way back to the berthside. His free hand then lifted the paralyzed minibot in to a sitting position; the hand with the plug unlatched the small plate at the back of Cliffjumpers' neck.

The program flooded his systems and bypassed firewalls as if they weren't even there.

**Medical Override Accepted: Sedation Program Reduction: 5:00 ... 4:59 … 4:58 …**

Cliffjumper had no idea what a 'reduction' meant, but he hoped it let him move. Hope soared. It even came with a timer; he stared at it as Soundwave laid him down again. The timer wasn't even past the first minute when Soundwave finally left the room.

**4:01 ... 4:00 ... 3:59 ...**

There was going to be a great deal of pain when the timer ran out. Cliffjumper knew that; what had been done was going to hurt when he could feel again. Still, he found himself desperate for those last seconds, for the chance to move around. He was going to be able to _move_.

**2:12 ... 2:11 ... 2:10...**

He was going to have to find a weapon. Something to pummel the slagger with when either Soundwave came back or some other Decepticons came to take him back to the cell. He thought there might still be a chance for that, some small hope that he wasn't going to be held prisoner here; the damage had already been done, why would Soundwave need to keep him?

**0:27 ... 0:26 ... 0:25 ...**

He was going to kill Soundwave the next time he saw him. He needed to exact his revenge as soon as he could; even if he was going back to the cell, he wasn’t going to let this stand.

**0:04 ... 0:03 ... 0:02 ... 0:01 ...**

Cliffjumper screamed. The pain struck and struck hard; it emanated in pulsing waves from between his legs, coursing in time to the beat of his own fuel pump. Instinctively, he curled up, rolling to his side and wrapping his arms around his stomach.

Pit, he had never felt anything like that. Dentals grit and intakes came in panted breaths; it hurt, it fraggin' _hurt,_ and it wasn't going away…!

Wait, wait; yes, it was. It was starting to fade a little. It was lessening. Slowly ebbing away as he adjusted to finally being able to feel things again. Perhaps it had been the shock of everything at once, but the longer he lied there, the more bearable the pain became.

All right, it was just all of it at once. It was just the shock of it. He was all right; it wasn't so bad. He could handle this. Deep breaths.

He had to get up. Cliffjumper forced himself to uncurl and then to roll over again. On his front, this time, so he could lift himself up. The pulse from his valve could be handled; he wasn't so weak as to be bowled over by a single Decepticon.

Slowly, he staggered on shaking limbs to his hands and knees. His legs trembled and his pain receptors complained about the movement; for several seconds, he stayed where he was, allowing his frame to take things slow. Taking things slow seemed like a fantastic idea, suddenly.

He chanced a look over himself; the blue paint coating his frame was a disturbing distraction, but damage had to be assessed. There was no energon; his valve wasn't bleeding. That was as close to a good sign as he could hope for.

Still, his panel was gone. Soundwave had never put it back. Primus only knew where he had even left it; his interface array was nude and the cables he could see appeared swollen and stretched.

Exhaustion weighed down on him; it was hard just to stay up and to keep his arms from collapsing underneath him. It was baffling; he felt as if he had run a marathon. Arguably, what had happened could have been the cause, but he had done nothing, he thought, to have made his body feel like this. He hadn't had the chance; he had been forced to lie there, forced in to stillness as Soundwave -

Cliffjumper purged on the berth. It came before he even realized it; he felt sick. His fuel tank churned.

Well, that was just _wonderful_. He forced himself to crawl backwards, unwilling to chance collapsing in to his own vomit. When he reached the end of the large berth, he tried to get his feet under him, only for his legs to collapse; he slid to the floor, but managed to sit upright.

He had to take deep breaths; his intakes felt strained. Why did everything feel so heavy? Why did he feel so tired? He ran a check with his systems, trying to pinpoint the cause.

**Sedation Program: 25%**

That program was still running; he was still sedated. Just less than before. Cliffjumper snarled; so, he was able to move and feel now, he just couldn't fight back at full power. He continued to tremble, but rage now fueled it.

He needed to find a weapon. Taking care with his drugged systems, the minibot staggered back to his feet; the edge of the berth had to be leaned against for support, but once he was up, he let go. Thankfully, he didn't fall over again.

The room was large; a living space sat to the left, littered with furniture far too small for Soundwave to ever fit in. At first, Cliffjumper worried that the Decepticon had actually gotten hold of the small chairs and couches just for a minibot captive, but quickly realized it was even too small for that.

Cassettes would fit there, however. That's right; Soundwave had cassettes. They weren't here now, though; Cliffjumper considered that a good thing.

Walking came with a limp; a horrid, long stride that ached with every step. The formerly red minibot hissed, but refused to stop. There was a shelf lined with datapads and knicknacks; from where he was, he could even see large busts and generic decoration that could be turned in to a weapon. Something to club Soundwave with, if nothing else.

Cliffjumper was halfway along the room when he caught movement from the corner of his optics. He stopped at once, turning with the rigidness of a possible fight; at first, he didn't recognize who he saw. Then, he realized he was staring at a mirror.

His jaw dropped once it registered; hesitantly, he took painful steps to get a closer look. He didn't even recognize himself; the blue paint and white stripes along his frame were wholly different from the red and black he had been in before. Then, he realized that so much more had been altered.

His optics were the wrong color. Thankfully, they weren't red -- he wasn't sure if he could have been able to handle _that_ \--, but the green that shone back were just as foreign. It didn't help that he could not recall if green represented anything; Autobots generally had blue and Decepticons generally had red. Even before the war, those were the two colors most had gone for. The shades had become symbolic _eons_ ago.

The optics proved to be so much of a distraction that he didn't notice his horns for several minutes more. When he did, he outright gasped; the finely tipped points and rounded base had been flattened. It looked closer to something that Red Alert or Inferno had; flat square-like things on the top of his head.

Minibots that were created with horns tended to have them for their entire lives. It was less a choice and more a necessity; their horns tended to have complex, dense wire clusters from birth. A throwback to what they were originally designed for; an extra sense based on intended use. Sometimes to pick up radio waves or to sense hidden mining nodes, but each set were individually crafted for the minibot that they were intended for. To change the design usually required complex, delicate surgery; something far too time consuming and needing far more resources than it was usually worth.

He had been in stasis for several hours. Cliffjumper had suspected something must have been altered in that time, but this was far more than he had anticipated; Soundwave had to have performed surgery to get this result.

His legs quaked; Cliffjumper collapsed in to a sitting position as he tried to get his mind to wrap around these facts. He had been completely and thoroughly altered in every sense of the word; it wasn't too far off from a complete reformat or a spark transplant. He dared not try to transform like this; he didn't want to know if his vehicle mode had been changed as well.

There weren't many reasons someone would do this. He had either been reshaped to fill some sort of fantasy image or had been repainted to resemble someone that actually existed.

Neither of which were very good at all.


	6. Bravado en falsetto

Cliffjumper was fairly certain that he was in shock.

He had never been in such a state before. He was surprised that he was even aware of it; although everything felt strangely cold and distant in a way very much unlike the earlier paralysis, the minibot knew that he was, in fact, in shock.

Cold tendrils of confusion worked its’ way through his systems and rendered him unable to do much of anything for a seemingly long stretch of time. The mirror still in front of him only threw back what had put him in such a state in the first place; blue paint, green optics, and square little horns that were anything but his own.

It just didn’t make any sense. Why would Soundwave do this? What was the point? This had all the signs of an intended long term capture, not the brief death-or-rescue that usually went down when this sort of thing happened. Cliffjumper could not recall any other Autobot that had been in Decepticon hands for more than a week. The changes that had been made to his body insinuated a much longer stay.

He needed to find a weapon.

That’s right; that’s why he had gotten up in the first place. Sooner or later, someone was going to come in here, and he needed to either defend himself or break loose and get to the others.

A breath cooled his systems with deep intakes made slow from shock; they became both shallower and faster as he struggled to stand, system fighting against the sedation program as it was. It felt as if weights were strapped to his entire chassis; once he was on his own two feet, he even wobbled at a sudden rush of vertigo.

This was only at a quarter strength; full power rendered even his optics near-frozen. Cliffjumper decided that he didn’t want to know what fell between those two settings.

The shelf was quickly found again. He limped for it, hissing at the pain between his legs; he had somehow — briefly — forgotten about that damage, temporarily stunned by his own reflection.

With the slow pace caused by both the earlier assault and the program running rampant in his systems, it took some time to reach the otherwise short distance to the other side of the room. When he finally reached the shelf, the minibot heaved from the exertion; after a brief rest, he began to look around, trying to find something in reach that could work as a weapon.

Datapads lined the shelf, propped up by small statues and decorative ends. Most were either too small or made of materials too fragile to really be of use. On a shelf too far out of his reach, what looked like a sturdy metal obelisk stood on the edge. With a deep frown, Cliffjumper tried to grab it; a jump for it not only proved unsuccessful, but caused him to stumble.

With an annoyed growl, the minibot glanced around for anything he could step on to reach it. Perhaps he could try to push over one of the very small couches or chairs. He didn’t know if he could balance on anything smaller in his current state. He looked around as quickly as he could for anything useful.

A small folding stepladder lay against the wall next to the book shelf. Bemused, he moved towards it and grabbed a handle on the top of the small metal device. It unfolded easily and the handle across the entire top of the stepladder was just large enough to grip comfortably. It didn’t even hover; it was practically a relic.

For several seconds, Cliffjumper stared at it in faint amusement. The ladder was actually a far better weapon than any decorative obelisk.

With that decision made, he looked around again. His gaze landed on the only door in and out of the large living space; perhaps he could make his way to it, keep the stepladder close, and smack the first person that came in. He could make a break for it then and run down the halls.

However, he was still slowed by the sedation program; odds were, anyone that would come in here would be able to catch him very quickly. That is, if he didn’t end up collapsing all on his own. That plan didn’t even include any Decepticons that may be in the halls.

Cliffjumper wasn’t the most intelligent of bots – even he knew that and, most of the time, had been proud at what he could do without the hyper intelligence that _some_ bots had – but even he could tell when a plan was simply not going to work.

The only other alternative was to wait for Soundwave and kill him. Hide his weapon somehow, wait for Soundwave to get close, and pummel him. Even in his current condition, it probably had a better chance of success.

A quick glance around gave him few options for a place to wait that would hide the stepladder; a little alcove between a cabinet and one of the few large chairs in the room seemed like the best bet.

The stepladder was dragged with both hands as he limped for the little space; his weapon was folded and laid against the wall behind him. Then, he sat down, took deep breaths and tried to relax his frame.

He would need to conserve what energy he had if this was going to work.

\-----

 

The door sliding open woke him from a light recharge.

At first, Cliffjumper jolted, surprised that he had fallen in to stasis at all. The sedation program, perhaps, took more out of him than he had been willing to admit. Then, he moved to grab at his makeshift weapon; one hand was on it when he finally looked to the door.

It wasn’t Soundwave; at least, not by the laughter. Two voices, near identical in sound and pitch. Cliffjumper said nothing, as he braced himself; both hands were on the stepladder’s handle as he stared.

Rumble and Frenzy walked in, looking to each other and laughing about something or other. Cliffjumper didn’t exactly know which was which twin – he knew both were Decepticons and, really, he didn’t need to know anything else out in the battlefield – but both screeched to a halt when they saw him.

For a long moment, everything was silent. Twin sets of red optics stared at pensive green in what looked like shock; quickly, all mirth faded from the two cassettes’ faces.

The surprise splayed on the red twin then twisted in to horror. The purple twin still hadn’t gotten past the first stage when his brother screamed, turned around, and fled from the room. In the hall, another frightened scream was let out.

The twin that remained glanced back to his fleeing brother, looked back to Cliffjumper with the widest optics the minibot had ever seen, and then fled after his fleeing sibling.

The minibot simply stood there in absolute bafflement. Slowly, he sat back down and tried to figure out what had just happened.

\-------

 

Eventually, Soundwave returned. 

When he did, several hours had passed; Cliffjumpers’ chronometer claimed it was somewhere around the middle of the afternoon, ARK time. He didn’t know if the Decepticons followed the same clock.

A red optical band roved around the room; the gaze landed directly on the Autobot captive for what felt like several seconds too long. Then, the state of the berth was finally noticed.

Soundwave stared at the mess in what might have been confusion. Perhaps surprise; Cliffjumper couldn’t be certain. Either way, the Decepticon turned around and made his way for the desk by the door. A lower drawer was shifted through before a hand pulled out a small, round cleaning drone.

The drone in question was set on the edge of the berth; a single button press had it beeping happily before it began to roam around the purged mess.

Cliffjumper glared at Soundwave, but didn’t move to attack. With his systems drugged down, it wouldn’t make much of an impact. Dentals were grit as he waited, hoping the plan would work.

Soundwave did not make his way to his captive. Instead, steps were taken to the other side of the living space, closer to the mirror; a table that sat very low to the ground was close by. It was probably intended for the cassettes. Still, the Decepticon reached in to subspace and pulled out a filled, sealed cube of energon; it was set on the table.

Then, he stared at Cliffjumper. Silence filled the room.

On his end, the minibot openly gaped; did Soundwave seriously think he would just walk over and take the cube like some obedient little _pet_? He settled for glaring and refused to budge. Both hands flexed at his sides, ready to grab his weapon again.

Soundwave continued to stare. Several minutes passed before he spoke. “Fear: Unnecessary.”

Cliffjumper sputtered. “Un… Un…” He couldn’t even grasp the word. “Are you out of –“

At once, he stopped; sudden, cold dread filled him. His voice did not sound right; he quickly brought a hand up, grasping and feeling at his throat. His own voice did not sound right, and there weren’t many reasons for that.

There it was; a tiny little thing, a dent so small that he probably wouldn’t have been able to find it unless he knew to look for it. It lay directly above where his vocalizer sat.

The glare returned, but with it came incredulity. “You _altered_ my _vocalizer_?! You couldn’t even leave _that_ alone?!”

The voice that came out of his own throat was far too high pitched, now; a far cry from the deeper tone he had before. Cliffjumper was fairly certain that _Bumblebee_ now had a lower voice than he did. It was almost _femme_ in pitch.

Soundwave said nothing. As his prisoner stewed in rage and shock, the Decepticon turned and began to leave the room.

Cliffjumper stood as quickly as he could and turned to grab the stepladder; just as Soundwave stepped out of the door, he threw the metal with as much force as he could, roaring as he did. It hit the door as it slid shut.

Rage filled him; the minibot half ran, half limped to the door and pounded at it, screaming all the while. After several seconds, coherency returned; along with it came threats.

“Get back here so I can _kill_ you, you piece of scrap! I’ll kill you! _I’ll kill you!_ ”

The tantrum did not last long; the program had rendered him in to exhaustion to begin with, and this activity only made it worse. Threats and rage-filled bellows quickly devolved in to panted breaths and weak knocks.

Cliffjumper stood on quaking legs as he heaved. Despite his frames’ seemingly desperate need to stay still, he refused to move away for several minutes more.

He dragged the stepladder behind him when he finally did; it was dumped on the floor by the table. The table in question was small enough that even he had to sit to use it properly. The waiting cube was glared at.

It didn’t contain any toxins, that much he knew; it wouldn’t make sense to kill him. If Soundwave wanted him dead, he would have done it already. However, that didn’t mean the cube didn’t have all sorts of _other_ horrible things mixed in.

On the other hand, he was already sedated and locked up, and he hadn’t been able to refuel since before the ambush. As a minibot, he might be more fuel efficient, but even he had his limits.

A test sip seemed like a good idea; if there was anything in it, at least he wouldn’t be hit with the full force of it and he would still know if it had been altered or not. The top of the cube was pried apart; a hesitant sniff told him nothing. Still wary, a very small sip was taken.

The cube was set back on the table. Cliffjumper waited for anything to go wrong with his systems. Seconds ticked by. Just when he began to think that the energon was clean, his HUD flash a single red light.

His systems had heated up. A small, negligible amount, but it had heated up all the same.

With a roar, the cube was thrown across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been giving these chapters terrible titles and I don't think anyone has noticed or cared yet.


	7. Panic in B Minor

He had to take stock of the situation.

Cliffjumper knew that he had to learn as much as possible. So far, continued ignorance of the various alterations that had been done caused far too much harm; the shock of finding things out the way that he did had already robbed him of valuable opportunities.

Soundwave, he knew, had already changed just about everything; his paint job was the least of it compared to the difference in his horns and voice.

He had to know if anything else was changed. He hated that he did, but there was no other way.

Getting upright needed the aid of the table; the captive Autobot pushed against it with both hands until his legs felt stable enough beneath him. He supposed it was a small miracle that he was able to think more or less clearly against the sedation program, but he still grumbled and cursed at what little mobility he actually had.

First things first; he had to make certain that particularly _sensitive_ areas hadn’t been altered. Soundwave had already assaulted him once and likely intended to do so again; otherwise, he wouldn’t still be here. 

A shudder coursed through him at the sudden notion that all these alterations had been done for the sole purpose of interface enslavement; it made a sick sort of sense. He had been made in to a perfectly tailored toy to play with; had that name that had been moaned during that assault – and it felt as if his fuel pump clenched simply thinking about the paralysis and the shifting and the _heat_ — been an attempt at renaming? He hoped that it hadn’t been.

He had to check. He simply had to know, or he would find out later if anything had been in an even worse way.

The table was pretty low to the floor; he ended up sitting on the edge of it. It helped to both take the weight off trembling legs and to look down over himself.

His valve had certainly seen better days. Even so many hours after the fact, the cables that were visible felt warmer than they should have. Though, he already knew that; he could _feel_ the heat, really. The bigger question lay just to the side of the aching wound.

Somehow, he was surprised to find that his cord had been left intact. Granted, the housing around the sheathed, hidden metal appeared somewhat bruised — interface regularly did that on its own, as the side-set valve and cord had originally been designed to be used at the same time. It was a little old fashioned to do such a thing these days, but he knew of a few people that still did.

It took some effort to get his cord to extend from its housing, both due to complete lack of arousal and from sudden pain that came when he did. Cliffjumper hissed in surprise; still, once it was all bared to the full length, it appeared to be in decent shape and mostly unharmed.

The cord was allowed back inside; he could only conclude that the pain came from the assault. It wouldn’t have been the first time a bot had received cord damage from being on the spiking end, as the two interface components were set so close together, and Soundwave _had_ pushed himself rather hard, shoving something far too large inside, over and over…

Cliffjumper halted the thought before it could get too far. His fuel tank churned at the memory; the last thing he needed was to purge again.

All right, so that was established; he had been worried his interface equipment might have been changed, but that was no longer a concern. One good step so far.

A moment was spent calming down and chasing away terrible thoughts. Cliffjumper sat there, optics shut down, to gather himself back together again. When he lit his optics alight once more, he stared at the mirror.

Grim determination formed; there was one other thing that he had been avoiding, and now was as good a time as any. He stood, took two shaky steps, and braced himself.

Then, he transformed in to vehicle mode.

The first surprise came that he could do so at all; part of him had suspected that his transformation cog would have been locked. Then, shock; not because his vehicle mode _had_ , in fact, been changed – he had figured that there was a large chance of that – but by the fact that he was pleasantly surprised by what it had been changed in to.

The very same vehicle mode he had once had before coming to Earth was now part of him again. Granted, the color was all wrong, but considering that it could have been something entirely foreign and alien made the strange familiarity a relief.

This, he could live with. This was at least somewhat familiar and, like most things that had so far been done, fixable. This change was something he could handle.

In fact, being able to transform was giving him ideas. He couldn’t move very far in root mode, not with the sedation program in play. However, his engine – although lagging terribly from the program in question – did seem to be working at almost full power.

Cliffjumper had an _idea_.

\------

The door slid open with a quiet hiss. Soundwave took two steps inside his quarters; the first thing he saw was energon spilled along the floor and the half empty cube laying nearby.

Then, a small blue and white Cybertronian craft smacked in to him.

The attack came so suddenly, the vehicle mode minibot managed to drive a short distance down the hall, screaming obscenities as he did so. Then, the blue Decepticon shot to his feet and leapt on the fleeing Autobot.

Cliffjumper let out a yell that was partway a swear and partway unintelligible fury, twisting and revving his engines in an attempt to gain freedom. The struggles were weak at best; Soundwave wrestled to get a good grip for only a moment. Then, he dragged the flailing craft back inside his quarters with what seemed to be hardly any trouble at all.

Cliffjumper continued to swear as he was tossed back inside the room; his only consolation was the deep intakes Soundwave took to settle himself. Still, he refused to transform, instead driving as far back inside the room as possible.

The minibot snarled as Soundwave approached; he was slightly gratified that the Decepticon stopped when he did so.

“Transform.” Came the monosyllabic order.

” _Frag_ no!” Cliffjumper almost laughed at the incredulity of the demand; did he think that that would actually work?

“Fear: Unnecessary.” Soundwave stared, emotion hidden under visor and mask.

“Frag you and the petro-rabbit you rode in on!” Cliffjumper yelled in response.

What sounded like a sigh erupted from the Decepticon. Then, he turned and took the few steps needed to get to the berth; the cleaning drone was picked up and gently set on the floor. The device let out a soft chirp before rushing towards the spilled energon.

“Fuel: Discarded.” Soundwave stated the obvious as he turned to stare again. “Why?”

Cliffjumper boggled. “You _put something_ in it!” Was he really having this conversation?

Soundwave continued to stare. “Supplements: Necessary.”

This time, Cliffjumper did laugh. “Supplements? Is that what you’re gonna call it, supplements?”

There came no immediate reply. After a short moment of silence, Soundwave began to move towards the Autobot again.

Cliffjumper revved his engine in warning and backed up; he hit the shelf behind him. Still, Soundwave came closer; a sudden flash of panic reared itself at how close the Decepticon was actually getting. Would he try to _attack_ him again, like he had when he had been paralyzed?

In a surge of desperation, the minibot shot forward as fast as he could and tried to run the large blue frame down. Instead of knocking him over, arms wrapped around his front end in a bear hug, going so far as to keep him in the air where neither wheels nor jets could gain proper traction.

Panic grew once he couldn’t move. Cliffjumper flailed and yelled in sudden claustrophobia; the fear didn’t even have words, at first, and it took a long moment for the cries to become swears.

By the time the minibot was coherent enough to do so, he realized that Soundwave hadn’t moved. His captor simply held him there, holding him close as he twisted. Cliffjumper began to pant, intakes straining against fear and sedatives alike, after only a few minutes.

The speed at which his energy vanished was a shock all on its own. Then, as the minibot tried to regain himself, Soundwave shifted until one hand was resting above his hood.

Something was pressed; there came a sharp pain. Then, Cliffjumper found himself back in root mode; somehow, Soundwave managed to keep his grip as his captive changed shape and only held on tighter when it was over.

For a moment, Cliffjumper was left dazed; he had absolutely no idea how his transformation sequence had been set off and his struggles had exhausted him in to further confusion. The world around him blurred dizzily; then, he found himself on the berth, backside pressed against soft fabric.

He had been handled and restrained far too easily. Anger flared. Cliffjumper let out an enraged yell and tried to get back up; large hands held his arms and a weight had settled itself on his legs. He only had a moment to let out a single swear; then, Soundwave’s entire chassis fell on him.

Panic reared; memories of the last time he was in this position, only a few short hours beforehand, rolled through the minibots’ mind. Still, the weight held him firm; no matter how much energy he put in to it, he could not push the body off.

Soundwaves’ helm was next to his own; their interface equipment lay disturbingly close to each other, but not close enough to be of use. The only warning he would get was, perhaps, Soundwave forcing him down or sliding further atop him, and that was hardly any consolation at all.

“Get off, get off, get off…” Cliffjumper tried to make it in to a threat, hissing it through clenched dentals. Despite it all, he didn’t want to _beg_. “Get off or I _swear_ I’ll kill you…!”

“Ssh.” It was partly a sound and partly static; Soundwave pressed his mask against the side of the minibots’ helm, murmuring it in to an audio. “Ssh.”

Cliffjumper opened and closed his mouth several times in mute stupefaction. Was Soundwave _shushing_ him? Trying to quiet him like a newspark having a tantrum?

“Ssh.” The static-lined whisper came again; then, Cliffjumper felt the grip on one arm release itself a brief second before he felt something against his valve.

The minibot let out a startled yelp and tried to push Soundwave with his free hand; with growing horror, he realized that his attempts were doing absolutely nothing to help him. Trying to push his legs together to protect his valve only caused the weights on them – Soundwave’s legs – to hold more firm.

There was no paralysis, this time; there was nothing to keep his body as numb as it had been before. Two fingers pushed in, and he felt them both distinctly when they did.

“I’ll kill you…!” Cliffjumper hissed as he still tried to push Soundwave off. “You won’t… It… I’ll _kill_ you!”

“Ssh.” Soundwave rubbed at his still trapped arm in what might have been a comforting gesture in any other circumstance. “Carerra. Ssh.”

The name caused a jolt. “That’s not my –“ The fingertips began to rub themselves against the valve lining and swollen cables; Cliffjumper screamed through clenched dentals at the mix of pain and unwanted pleasure that erupted. “I’m going to fraggin’ _kill you_!”

“Ssh.” Again; with it came more vigorous rubbing.

It quickly became obvious what Soundwave was trying to do; Cliffjumper grit his dentals, shut off his optics, and tried to hold out from not giving his tormenter what he wanted. However, the hand working inside him seemed to know exactly where to touch and just what to press.

The minibot was trembling long before it actually happened; intakes came in hissed breaths with the failing attempt to stall it. When his own fans turned on to try and deflect against the rising temperature between his legs, he swore aloud. Throughout it all, Soundwave continued to hush him.

Overload eventually hit; when it did, Cliffjumper’s entire frame seized as he screamed. There was no real pleasure; only fury, fear and a disturbing tingling along his valve. The forced arousal barely even effected his cord; a single command came up, but the minibot easily cancelled it.

Transfluid seeped from his valve. Thick, pale liquid; he still had his optics shut down when he felt it, and let out what felt like the millionth curse on Soundwaves’ very spark.

Soundwave shifted atop him; Cliffjumper hoped he would get off and just leave him like he had the last time. Instead, his frame pulled itself higher, just to the point that Cliffjumper could barely look over his shoulders if he wanted to, before settling down again.

He remembered this position; he knew what was coming. An anguished moan escaped the minibot at the knowledge.

Had all of that just been to make some sort of lubricant? Had the entire point of that been a _preparation_ , just the start of Soundwaves’ depravity?

The numbness of the last assault was gone; it hurt far worse, this time, when Soundwave pushed in.


	8. Chapter 8

In times of war, there tended to be instructional recordings fixed up to prepare soldiers for hypothetical situations. How to handle particular weaponry, how to react in certain situations, what to do in case of something dire and, more often than not, bits of propaganda. The Autobots had been no different; even after so many centuries of fighting, there were regular mandatory screenings to educate them. They often repeated themselves, but refresher courses were encouraged.

Some had been designed to cause discomfort. After all, war was not a pretty thing, and horrible things could and did happen. Death, destruction and gore were only the start of it, really; amongst the various films, assault — and what to do about it — had always been the one to cause the largest number of troops to shift in their seats and leave in subdued silence.

Those films, Cliffjumper decided, were nothing compared to the reality.

He could recall the last showing easily enough; it had been shown only a few months ago, probably for the Protectobots’ benefit. Granted, the Dinobots had been seeing it for the first time as well, but, really, who would think that Wheeljack’s large creations would ever have to worry about such a thing? That lot had been there only because they had to. Cliffjumper doubted that they even understood it.

Bumblebee had been sitting next to him and had, as he always did when that particular video file was shown, looked thoroughly sickened the entire time. Most of the minibots did; a good quarter of it was solely about size difference and how dangerous it could be. Images had not helped; the picture of a small grayed out corpse, torn apart from the inside out, had caused quite a few of them to purge after they had seen it for the first time. Even Gears had been ill back at that very first screening and, even so many centuries later, still refused to look.

That very same tearing was probably why Soundwave had gone so slow. Their frame types were certainly no where near compatible; even with the slow speed the Decepticon had taken, it had still left his valve feeling as if it were on fire.

Those screenings were the only time any of them ever brought up the subject. Save for hushed rumors of who may or may not have been victimized — rumors, gossip, nothing more — no one spoke of it.

Cliffjumper found himself wishing that they had. The recording had advised not to fight and to instead wait for an escape or rescue, but had given absolutely nothing on what to do about long term capture or repeated attacks. Maybe it was the kind of thing that didn’t happen often; he couldn’t recall hearing about anything close to what he was going through now.

Fat lot of good those films did him now, though; Soundwave was on top of him, that damned cord was still buried deep inside of him, and the lights had shut off while he had screamed. Even unmoving and in deep recharge, the Decepticon managed to make everything ache.

The cord was pressing against everything; somehow, it felt as if the cables, wires and delicate circuitry were being pulled and pushed every which way all at the same time. The casing around his own cord throbbed; Cliffjumper wondered if it was possible for his cord to be crushed from inside his own valve. The pain was _constant_.

The air was boiling; Soundwaves’ fans had long since dulled in to a much calmer whirr than it had been during the attack itself, but the heat it had caused was slow to dissipate. Cliffjumper worried that he might overheat; his own cooling systems were straining themselves terribly. He had never heard of anyone dying from overheating, though.

Moving the body off had proven impossible; sedatives combined with Soundwave’s weight had only had the minibots’ single free arm trembling from the attempt. Not that he wasn’t already shaking; Cliffjumper felt as if he couldn’t stop from quaking. Even his trapped legs were twitching, desperate to get up and to get away.

This was the second time this had happened. The second _rape_ ; even now, the word sounded so foreign. The second time Soundwave had forced this. The first time, he had left fairly quickly; this time, it didn’t appear that he would be as lucky.

The lights were off. When they had shut off, it had shocked him; he could remember gasping between yells when everything suddenly went dark, save for the green reflection of his altered optics and the red from Soundwaves’ visor looming nearby. Somehow, the darkness made it all worse.

Now, with everything dark and Soundwave so very still, it looked like he wouldn’t move for a very long time. The whole night, perhaps.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t move, couldn’t lessen the pain, and he had absolutely no _idea_ what to do. Was he supposed to try and recharge as well? How could he, like this?

Cliffjumper growled in frustration, but kept from crying out. He hadn’t wanted to give Soundwave the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Grit dentals had only muffled the noise; he didn’t want to give in again.

He couldn’t recall ever feeling such intense worry. He didn’t want to call it fear; he did not want to admit to the fact that he might be afraid. Battle after battle, even the few that had edged upon death, hadn’t even left his mind reeling like this.

There were very few options; he didn’t want to have to lie there for who knows how many hours, waiting for Soundwave to wake up. Maybe he could force himself to sleep, somehow.

Optics were shut down and dentals grit further; the pain persisted, but there was nothing left to do. Deep intakes; in and out.

It was going to be a very long night.

\------

Cliffjumper woke up to something shifting above him; at first, consciousness was slow to return. The slow haze as systems gradually booted online came about, only to be quickened by a _sharp_ , terrible pain.

A surprised yelp flew out before he could get a grasp on what was happening; optics lit in shock only to catch sight of Soundwave pulling himself out of his valve.

Well, that explained _that_. Soundwave was no longer holding him down; Cliffjumper growled and tried to push himself backwards in the attempt to get that cord out of him all the faster.

Soundwave stopped him. One very large hand grabbed hold of a leg and held it still; just long enough to pull out with what felt like an impossibly slow speed. Cliffjumper thought he might have been doing it on purpose; his free leg kicked at empty air to no avail.

Once the cord was out – and with it came a small lake of transfluid – the leg was released. Immediately, the minibot pulled back and scurried to the head of the berth. Cliffjumper glared at Soundwave, trembling and heaving, as the Decepticon calmly walked to the washracks.

Same thing as the last time, it looked like; Soundwave was going to wash himself off. Was he going to come back with the rags like he had the last time? A shudder coursed through him at the idea of those fingers going back inside him again.

He needed a weapon. Cliffjumper looked around the berth for anything that might prove useful; nightstands stood at either side, but, save for a small decorative crystal that would probably not even make a dent, there was nothing.

The stepladder was still where he had left it; it was perched against the wall further down the room. With a determined frown, the captive Autobot pushed himself off the side of the berth.

He immediately collapsed; the area between his legs flared in pain as his legs shook and refused to function. A pain-filled cry came from his altered vocalizer as he tried to stand up again; he even gripped the blankets strewn on the berth for support, only for his frame to fall again.

Cliffjumper stared at his own legs in helpless frustration; he had been worried that he wouldn’t be able to walk, but had hoped he could deal with it as he had before. Looks like that wouldn’t be the case.

He couldn’t walk. It didn’t mean he was completely at a loss. Cliffjumper snarled and began to crawl for the stepladder.

He knew that this probably wasn’t going to work; there were far too many ways this could fail. He couldn’t even _get up_ , for Primus’s sake. Still, he refused not to at least try; he was not going to simply lie there and be a complacent little toy for Soundwave to play with. Determination mixed with fury; he pushed himself on, moving on quaking hands and knees.

Half the room was travelled; the cleaning drone was already moving about and cleaning the dripping mess of transfluid that his valve left on the floor. Then, he heard the washracks shut off.

Cliffjumper swore aloud. A quick glance was sent about; a datapad sitting on a low shelf was grabbed. He sat up against the small shelf, held the datapad as if it were a weapon, and looked up when Soundwave stepped through the door.

The Decepticon in question stopped and stared for several long seconds. Soundwave said nothing and his expression was as unreadable as ever.

Cliffjumper glared back and waited for something to happen. It took a moment to notice the rags held in one large hand; the grip on the datapad was tightened.

“Fear: Unnecessary.”

Cliffjumper snarled. “Stop _saying_ that!”

Soundwave let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh. “Self-cleaning: Possible.”

Green optics narrowed at that; Cliffjumper didn’t know if he was disgusted, relieved or some odd mix of both. “And let me guess. You’re going to watch the entire time, right?”

A slight nod. “Affirmative.”

The datapad was thrown; Soundwave calmly moved aside. It hit the wall. “Forced cleaning: Also possible.”

The words may have come in monotone, but Cliffjumper could recognize a threat when he heard one. He trembled in rage; was this even a choice?

“…Fine, you sick glitch.” A snarl. “Give me the fragging rag.”

Soundwave stepped close with no obvious caution; the cloth was held out. As soon as Cliffjumper grabbed it, the Decepticon took two steps back. The minibot wondered, bitterly, if that was his way of granting some sort of deformed rendition of privacy.

Cliffjumper turned the best he could despite the pain coursing through him; he managed to turn to the shelf, just until his back was to his attacker. He refused to simply open up and let Soundwave look at his valve while he cleaned it off; it was the closest thing to a victory that he could get right now.

He tried to ignore the red band staring at him; he truly did, cringing as he instead tried to focus on getting as much of that transfluid out as possible. He knew that Soundwave would somehow know if he only pretended to do so; besides, he actually did want to clean himself. It hurt to press against the inner lining of his valve, though; he winced as he did.

Soundwave didn’t make a sound or move to try to get a better look. Instead, he stood there and waited in silence. Still, Cliffjumper thought he could actually feel him there, hovering by his backside.

It took quite a few minutes. By the time he thought it was all finally out of him, the rag was practically drenched. Cliffjumper threw it aside in disgust; as Soundwave walked by and picked it up, he looked up to glare. He wished he had the strength to hit him. “Sick freak.”

Soundwave stared back. “Acceptance: Eventual.”

With that, Soundwave walked away. The soaked rag was tossed in to a trash bin as he did so; then, he left the simply left the room.

The main door locked shut when it closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am editing this thing while going along and, my goodness, I was a terrible writer. Was? Am? Am still? Blah.


	9. Of minibots and minicons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even certain if anyone is reading this. Is anyone reading this? Hello? Bueller?

Eventually, Cliffjumper got hold of the stepladder again.

It didn’t particularly matter to the minibot that he had spent a great deal of time and effort just to get the folding piece of metal; all that mattered was that he had something resembling a weapon to work with. Once he had it, he forced himself in to a sitting position, leaned against the small table behind him, and clutched the metal device as if it were a lifeline.

He was shaking. He hadn’t been able to stop shaking for a while, much to his great annoyance. He shouldn’t be so weak to be quaking at all, let alone when there was no immediate danger. Right now, Cliffjumper chose to blame the sedation program; it made the world swim, at times, and everything felt far heavier than it should. It certainly wasn’t _him_ ; he wasn’t _weak_.

Well, then, what was he supposed to do, now? Wait for Soundwave to get back and hope he could land more than a glancing blow? He wished he had a gun. Even a tiny pistol wouldn’t be refused; all of his weapons had been confiscated right after capture, even the ones in subspace. All of theirs had been.

The _others_ ; they knew he had been taken away. That was the best chance he had, he supposed, for an end to all this; Perceptor, at the very least, knew Soundwave had taken him off. The others, as well, would know something was wrong when he wasn’t returned. If he was lucky, a Decepticon would let slip what was going on, assuming Perceptor didn’t start rambling his own theories about it.

If he was lucky. So far, luck had not been on his side.

Though, something else was now clear; this had absolutely nothing to do with the others. Whatever weapon that the Decepticons wanted Perceptor to build had to be unrelated; it must be, since Soundwave had made absolutely no mention of it. This was all _him_ ; this was all Soundwave doing whatever he wanted.

He had to figure out a way to use that, somehow. Soundwave was going to come back – this was _his_ room, after all, he _lived_ here – and he was going to attack him again. That was the only reason he had been taken here in the first place.

There just had to be something he could use. Something better than a stepladder.

The door slid open.

At once, Cliffjumper looked up in alarm. Soundwave had just left, he couldn’t be back so soon, could he? He didn’t think he could handle another attack so soon.

No, it wasn’t Soundwave; two smaller sets of red optics were staring at him. Rumble and Frenzy; both twins looked somewhere between terrified and shellshocked. Both cassettes stepped inside; the door slid closed behind them.

For a moment, everything was quiet; the twins said nothing and Cliffjumper didn’t know what to say. The minibot simply clutched his makeshift weapon and warily waited for them to make the first move.

The red twin took two slow, hesitant steps closer to the repainted Autobot. When he spoke, optics wide and breath shallow, his voice was nearly a whisper. “…Carerra?”

Cliffjumper stiffened; a scowl crossed his face. “That’s _not_ my name. My _name_ is Cliffjumper.”

Visible surprise crossed identical faceplates. Then, relief crossed the purple twin; even his brother turned to stare when he walked to one of the nearby miniature sofas and collapsed backwards on it.

“Oh, Pit.” The relief transformed in to mirth. “Ha. Ahaha! I _told_ you it wasn’t him!”

His brother didn’t seem nearly as happy. The concern was still there as the red twin turned to stare back at Cliffjumper. “Wait, weren’t you a different color or somethin’…?”

“Yeah.” Cliffjumper snorted, but held back from swinging the stepladder; something was off, here. He felt as if he was missing something. “I was red. Soundwave did all this.”

The red cassette’s optics widened. “Oh, frag.”

“What?” His brother grinned from nearby. “The boss is just having some fun.”

“Rumble.” The red twin turned to stare at his brother again, tone sharp. “Rumble, the boss took one of the ‘Bots from the brig, took him here, _repainted_ him to look like Carerra, and _didn’t tell us about any of it._ Frag, he even _sounds_ like him!”

The smile faded from Rumbles’ face; still, he only shrugged a little. “So? I mean… Everybody talks about banging the ‘Bots. It’s no big deal, Frenz.”

“He _repainted_ a ‘Bot, Rumble, and…” Frenzy stopped and turned back to Cliffjumper. “Weren’t your horns pointy?”

Cliffjumper boggled, stunned that he wasn’t the only one disturbed by all this. “Uh, yeah. Soundwave messed with those. My vocalizer, too.”

The red cassette stared; his jaw dropped slightly. Then, he once more turned to his brother. “And you don’t find any of this the least bit creepy, bro?”

“Uh, well, sure, but, uhm…” Rumble shrugged again; he shifted in place on the couch. “…It’s the Boss. It’s, uhm…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “…He knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s kinda the point.” Frenzy rubbed his face. “Bro, this is… Kinda nuts. He looks _just like_ Carerra! You gotta admit –“

“Who _is_ Carerra?” Cliffjumper frowned, stunned that Soundwaves’ own symbiotes were acting this way. He had expected them to taunt, laugh and jeer; this behavior was exactly the opposite of what he had expected. Weren’t they supposed to be just like the rest of the insane Decepticons around here?

Both Rumble and Frenzy stared at him for a moment. Then, the red brother quickly walked to a shelf and pulled out a thick, old datapad. He took the few steps back to Cliffjumper and held it out. “Here. Don’t press the left arrow button too hard. It kinda sticks.”

Cliffjumper gave the datapad a wary stare. Hesitantly, he set the stepladder-turned-weapon down and took hold of the small device.

It was certainly old; it sported a model he hadn’t seen since before the war. It was thick, clunky and with decals long since faded. Still, it appeared to function; the power button was pressed and it turned on quickly.

It was a photo album; the first picture was of the blue and white minibot he now resembled. A professionally done piece, he thought; the background was far too crisp and the minibots’ frame was shined far too well.

In the photo, Carerra was smiling.

With a deep frown, the pictures were flipped through; the first few were similarly done professional pictures in various poses. However, after that, snapshots crossed the screen. Some were blurry, there was a thumb or finger occasionally blocking things out, but they were still what looked very much like family snapshots.

Soundwaves’ cassettes – most of them, at any rate, although Cliffjumper didn’t know the names of most of them and had a feeling he didn’t know them all besides – were in most of the pictures; jumping around, seemingly playing, or just doing every day things. However, Carerra was also in them; usually in the background, either talking with one of the cassettes or Soundwave, or playfully hugging someone. In a few, Carerra had been caught gazing at Soundwave – who had that mask on even then – with a small grin and a doting expression.

“He looks… Happy.” Cliffjumper stared at the pictures in disturbed fascination.

“He was, yeah.” Frenzy frowned from a bare few feet away. His voice as barely above a whisper, tinged with melancholy. “Best thing that ever happened to the Boss. Long time ago, though. I mean, before the war kinda long.”

Cliffjumper turned off the datapad and held it back out. He didn’t know why the recordicon was being so forthcoming, but he wasn’t going to pass the chance at information by. “What happened to him?”

“Slag happened.” Rumble huffed from the couch. The earlier mirth had vanished completely.

“ _War_ happened.” Frenzy took the datapad and moved to set it back where it came from. “’Rerra and the Boss saw political stuff differently, which ain’t never good for a relationship, and ‘Rerra ended up leaving.” The datapad was set on the shelf. “…And then got blown up.”

Cliffjumper frowned; he wasn’t quite certain what to do with this information. He didn’t know if it was better or worse to have been altered to look like someone that actually existed instead of imagined. The stepladder was grabbed again.

Silence fell; for several seconds, none of the three made a sound or so much as looked at each other. Frenzy stared at the shelf, Rumble at some indefinable point, and Cliffjumper at the floor. The minibot saw no reason to say anything or to waste his energy on attacking them just yet.

“I’m gonna wait here for the Boss.” That came from Frenzy after a few minutes; Cliffjumper looked up when he did. Frenzy then walked towards a couch facing a small screen. “Bro, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Rumble stared at his brother as if he had lost his mind. “Frag no, I’m staying.” He got up, only to walk the short distance to join his twin on the couch. “I kinda wanna see what you do, anyway.”

The twins grinned at each other. Then, Frenzy picked up a remote and turned on the screen; a human drama began to play.

\---------

 

For several hours, the twin cassettes seem to forget that he was there. They were all but glued to the small screen, watching various human-run shows and even playing video games. Where they had even found human-made equipment to fit their much larger hands, Cliffjumper decided he neither needed nor wanted to know.

It was a strangely comfortable silence; the background noise actually helped to calm him, even if it was interrupted by the voices of the two Decepticons.

The two baffled him; they had even been disturbingly polite about his presence. Neither had mentioned his missing panel and the red one had been far too helpful. It seemed as if they were both as bothered by the whole thing as he was; he didn’t trust them. Decepticons had never acted that way towards prisoners before.

Still, they hadn’t actually done anything, and he was far too exhausted to waste any effort on them. He needed to preserve what strength he had for Soundwave.

The door slid open while the twins were playing some sort of racing game. The sound had been so soft, Cliffjumper had almost missed it; he didn’t know how the cassettes managed to hear it, but as soon as Soundwave stepped inside, the television was quickly shut off.

“Boss!” Frenzy sputtered.

“Rumble, Frenzy: Depart.” Soundwave didn’t so much as glance to them; he held an energon cube in one hand.

Cube or not, Cliffjumper was still on edge; he held the stepladder and gripped the handle bars. He made a brief attempt to get up, but his legs refused to function; he settled for sitting up, weapon at the ready.

“Boss…” Instead of leaving, the twins stepped between Soundwave and his prisoner. Frenzy spoke, the apparent lead in the twins’ side of the conversation. “Boss, listen, this… This is weird.”

Cliffjumper stared at the twins in incredulity; were they actually going to try and defend him?

Soundwave stared at his symbiotes. Still, he had stopped.

Frenzy appeared to take some strength from the pause. “Boss, this… Fraggin’ a ‘Bot is okay and if you wanna do that, go ahead, but this… All this? This is… Really, _really_ creepy.”

Soundwave’s optical band narrowed. Still, he said nothing.

Rumble gulped. “Carerra’s dead, Boss. Been dead a long time.”

Frenzy took in a deep intake. “This ain’t gonna bring him back.”

“Resurrection: Not the goal.”

Both twins stopped at that. The two cassettes shared a worried glance.

“…Boss, Ratbat’s afraid to come in here.” Frenzy sputtered. “Laserbeak and Buzzsaw recharged in the storage rooms when we told ‘em what we saw in here. Boss, this is… This is kinda _crazy._ ”

Soundwave tilted his head slightly; he appeared to be in thought. 

“Boss, does Megatron know you took one of the ‘Bots?” Rumble stared with wide optics. “I mean, he’s gonna be really slagged off –“

“Megatron: Suggested custody of the prisoner.”

The twins stopped again. This time, they appeared thoroughly shocked; neither of the brothers spoke again.

After a brief moment, Soundwave stepped around his cassettes and moved towards his prisoner.

Cliffjumper raised the stepladder; his arms shook from the effort. When Soundwave felt close enough, he swung it; the Decepticon’s free hand caught the metal almost immediately.

Pulling on the stepladder did nothing, but Soundwave made no effort to pull it away; instead, he set the energon cube on the table the Autobot had been leaning against. Then, he stepped back and let go of the makeshift weapon.

Cliffjumper pulled the metal device back again; it fell to the floor. He stared at it, dismayed at how useless it had been.

Without another word, Soundwave walked out of the room.

“…Well, that went well.” Rumble groaned. “Hot slag.”

Frenzy rubbed his face; the cassette took in a deep breath. “How’r we gonna explain this to the others? That the Boss lost it?” He glanced to Cliffjumper for a moment; then, back to his twin. “Come on, someone’s gotta break it to ‘em sooner or later.”

With that, both twins left the room, as well.

\---------

Cliffjumper stared at the sealed cube of energon on the table with a growing fury. Soundwave either thought that he would eventually give in and drink it or perhaps thought he was stupid enough not to know it had been tampered with again.

Still, he had to admit that the former was likely to happen sooner or later. His fuel tank was near empty; although he could keep going for a little while after that on runoff and fumes, it wouldn’t be too long before his systems completely failed. A week, at best; perhaps two, with the sedation program slowing everything down.

He was _hungry_ ; sooner or later, he was going to starve. There was just no other way around it; he needed the energon. Simply staring at the cube had his tank rumbling.

He might have needed it, but he didn’t have to drink the whole thing. Whatever aphrodisiac Soundwave put in it – and there was nothing else that would have sent his body heating up the way it had the last time – would likely not be as strong at only half dose. It was more likely that he could handle the half or quarter of it; he just didn’t have to drink the whole thing.

Besides, having something new in his tank might actually give him more energy.

The cube was pried open as quickly as he could with shaking hands. Then, a large gulp was taken; not nearly enough to drink more than a fraction of what was in it. Then, the cube was set down. Cliffjumper waited. It didn’t take long.

There it was; the same heat in his systems as the last time. A slow, steady rise in his systems; it wasn’t much. Tolerable, really.

Another gulp was taken; again, the Autobot waited to see if there was any change. After several minutes, there was none; the heat stayed exactly where it was.

Was that all that the tampered energon was going to do? Make things slightly more uncomfortable than they already were? He could handle that; the shock and horror from the initial discovery were gone, now. He could take some buildup in his systems.

Confident, Cliffjumper gulped more of the cube. Still, he was wary; a little less than half was consumed before he closed the container again.

Then, he sat back against the table.

He had been right; he felt a little stronger, a little better with more energon in his systems. At least, his HUD warning about low fuel were now out of the yellow. In fact, they were almost in the green.

For a short while, Cliffjumper grinned to himself with the newfound extra strength; the stepladder was held in growing glee. Time was passed by imagining ways to kill Soundwave and how best to take him down.

Half an hour later, the minibot let out a cry from sudden pain; his HUD warned of a flux of heat from his internal circuitry. His fans turned on instantly, trying to cool his frame down. It didn’t work very well.

Everything felt as if it were on fire; Cliffjumper curled up on the floor, alternatively heaving and swearing aloud.


	10. About a dozen shades of blue

It burned. Everything burned. It felt as if his entire frame from the fuel tank down was melting; he could actually feel the churning of the tank in question as it tried to sort out the energon from whatever it was that Soundwave had put in it. The flare of pain had been gradually increasing as the seconds ticked by; Cliffjumper was unsurprised when his interface equipment began to pulse along with it. It was what aphrodisiacs were designed to do, after all.

As time went on, it was only becoming more and more difficult to think. All he could focus on was the terrible burning flares flowing through his systems. The minibot curled on the floor where he had fallen, hoping that the pain would subside long enough to figure out a way for it to stop.

He wasn’t certain how long he lay there – he didn’t have the mind to check his chronometer – but what sounded like a gasp snapped him out of the turmoil. Green optics lit up with something between fear and resignation; a moan of dismay came with it as overhead lights flooded his vision. However, once he could focus long enough to realize what he was staring at, it dulled down to a simple confusion.

Ravage stood there, slightly hunched over to stare at his face.

Cliffjumper had rarely seen Ravage this close up. The few times that he had, the feline cassette had held narrowed, shrewd optics, bared fangs, and had usually been in the process of trying to tear him apart. Ravage was, after all, one of the more dangerous of the recordicons, as well as one of the more intelligent. At least, that was what what he got from the few times that they had met.

Now, the four-legged cassette held an entirely different expression; wide optics and with a jaw clenched shut. Pain prevented much more than the concept that Ravage was, perhaps, surprised.

Ravage was looking at him from, at best, an arm’s length away. Cliffjumper stared back, senses clouded, but slightly calmed by the notion that the cassette was probably not going to do much in the way of harming him. Rumble and Frenzy hadn’t, so why would he?

A paw slowly set itself on the minibots’ shoulder, only to pull back as if it had been scalded. For some reason that was beyond him, Cliffjumper found some amusement in this; he let out a small laugh. The chuckle died out quickly as an intense, burning jolt went through his frame.

For a seemingly long moment, nothing happened. Then, Ravage slid down and wrapped his jaw around a blue-painted arm. A hiss came from the cassette as he did so, but he did not let go; instead, the recordicon pulled.

The bite didn’t hurt; Cliffjumper stared at his arm numbly, wondering why it didn’t. Ravage didn’t even seem to be pulling hard. There came another tug; was he trying to lead him somewhere? If so, why?

He couldn’t get up and didn’t have the energy to think too deeply on why the cassette was trying to take him somewhere. His free arm still clutched at his abdomen; a brief attempt was made to try and crawl along, but that quickly failed under the agony coursing through him.

Still, Ravage was insistent. After several minutes, the recordicon settled for dragging the minibot along the floor. Cliffjumper allowed him; the tugging in his arm and shoulder was barely felt at all, and the smooth metal flooring offered little resistance.

The floor was even enough that it wasn’t even uncomfortable to slide along it; it only became easier when the texture flattened further as they entered another room. The hiss of a sliding door was the first sign of it; green optics blearily looked around what looked like the washracks.

It took a moment to recognize it as the very same washracks Soundwave had bathed him in during the paralysis; a moan surfaced at the memory.

Ravage continued to pull him until he was underneath a particularly low set series of sprays; then, the arm was let go. Cliffjumper shut off his optics again as he curled up once more; had Soundwave told his symbiote to clean him up?

Cold water came from the overhead nozzle; he gasped in surprise. It felt like ice; at first, it was a shock and a stark contrast to the fire waging war inside of his frame.

Then, the cool water seeped in to his joints and flowed over his body. The heat slowly began to ebb as the surrounding temperature lowered.

If cleaning was the objective, then the cold water was confusing; Cliffjumper lit his optics up once more to look around, only to find that Ravage was gone.

The water felt far too nice. The pain did not evaporate completely, but the ice cold spray helped immensely. For now, he was content just to lie there; his processor began to function better as the pain lessened.

Had Ravage done this on purpose? Had he known, somehow, that this was just what he needed? If so, why had he helped him?

It was strangely amusing to realize that what Ravage had done had probably been one of the nicest things he could have hoped for. It was certainly the nicest thing that had happened since his capture. Although he didn’t believe in a lack of ulterior motive, he found himself grateful for the reprieve.

Soundwave was going to return eventually, but, for now, Cliffjumper was going to take this lack of pain for as long as it lasted.

 

\------------

The sound of a sliding door woke him up.

Cliffjumper jolted at the sound. It took a moment to remember where he was; when he did, he growled at himself for letting recharge to set in. Never mind that the past few days had been thoroughly exhausting and more than a little taxing; he couldn’t afford these little slip-ups.

Despite the soft rush of the showerhead, the echo of heavy footsteps was still easily heard from out in the main room. The door to the washracks itself had closed – probably when Ravage had left – and had yet to reopen.

The footsteps were getting louder. Cliffjumper knew who it was; there was only one person who was both heavy enough to make that noise and could access the room. The minibot forced himself to sit up, although he didn’t leave the liquid spray; the pain would likely return if he did. A brief idea to transform was quickly set aside; changing in to vehicle mode would likely be no help at all. He braced himself for a fight.

The door slid open; Soundwave took a single step before stopping short. For several seconds, the Decepticon simply stared down at him.

After a moment, his fans turned on with an audible roar.

Well, that was just one more wonderful ounce of disturbing scenery to add to the already insane situation. Cliffjumper glared and stiffened in wary expectation. He couldn’t get up under his own power; Soundwave would have to make the first move.

He was not afraid; Cliffjumper refused to admit to that. It didn’t matter how badly he was damaged or how terrible the pain would become; he would not give in to fear. That resistance was one of the last things he had left.

Everything was unmoving and silent for several seconds. 

Then, with a startling speed, Soundwave rushed at him.

Cliffjumper backed away with a shocked yelp; despite the ache in his valve, he managed to kick and crawl backwards a short distance. He didn’t get far; he hadn’t even moved away from the overhead spray before Soundwave practically pounced him; one large blue hand grabbed an arm. The other grabbed for a leg.

Panic flared. Cliffjumper kicked with his free leg and tried to keep himself upright; the hand on his arm was trying to push him down to the floor, but he knew that it was just going to get worse if he allowed that to happen. A loud ‘click’ was heard even through the falling water and terrifying clamor; optics landed on the source at the same time his processor realized what the sound was.

Soundwaves’ cord was out. It was the first time he had actually seen it; before now, he had been forced down and had never had a chance to see. Intakes hitched at the sight.

The shock was enough to freeze him for just a moment; long enough for Soundwave to finally push him to the floor. Cliffjumper yelled again as his helm struck the tile, though he was quick to try to push and shove at the Decepticon’s frame; it did nothing to help him.

Cliffjumper knew what was going to happen; Soundwave was already forcing his legs apart. He shut off his optics and braced himself for the pain.

” _Boss!_ ” A horrified yell. “Oh, come on, you gotta do that in here, too?!”

Soundwave stopped. Cliffjumper hesitantly lit his optics up and turned his head to look.

Both Rumble and Frenzy stood at the open door; twin sets of optics were wide. Frenzy openly gaped; Rumble had his hands in the air in visible incredulity.

What sounded like an unhappy sigh came from the frame above him. The Decepticon slowly lifted himself from his captive. He made no attempt to retract his cord.

“Oh, Pit, _Boss_!” Rumble whined before walking out of the doorframe’s view. Frenzy covered his optics and cringed.

“Rumble, Frenzy: Leave the premises.” Soundwave still had one hand wrapped around a small arm; Cliffjumper tried to tug it loose to no avail. The minibot was pulled up to a sitting position; he tried to stand to gain some sort of leverage, but that quickly proved futile as his legs trembled and refused to work.

Dentals were grit; Cliffjumper knew what Soundwave was going to do in fairly short order. If the Decepticon chose to take him out of the washracks for it, the burning was likely to come back. He didn’t know if he could handle both pains at the same time.

Intakes came ragged through clenched dentals; he didn’t know what to do. The panic was only increasing; Cliffjumper glanced between Soundwave and his symbiotes as he grew desperate for something to help him.

Frenzy uncovered his optics and stared at the captive Autobot. A deep frown crossed the cassettes’ faceplate. “Boss, you really going to do this at any time of the day?”

Soundwave still hadn’t taken a single step. “Possibly.”

The recordicon finally looked up at the much taller Decepticon. “Uh, can we at least get some warning or something next time?” Frenzy appeared to be taking very careful motions in order not to look at the still uncovered cord. Cliffjumper didn’t blame him.

There came a pause. Slowly, Soundwave nodded. “Future warnings: Granted.”

Frenzy let out an audible breath of relief. Then, he turned and walked away. The door slid shut.

Cliffjumper cringed when it did; he hadn’t expected Soundwaves’ own symbiotes to help him – at least, not with stopping _this_ – but there had been a tiny shred of hope for at least some kind of delay.

Soundwave still held one arm in a vice-like grip. The Decepticon leaned over his prisoner; the minibot turned as far away from him as possible; with the position that he was in, the cord wasn’t quite eye level – it was above his head, actually – but it was still far too close for any sort of comfort.

The overhead spray was shut off. The cold air was slow to dissipate, but the lack of rushing water was quickly felt; the heat deep inside of his fuel tank began to rise again. A groan escaped the minibot; Soundwave had most likely known that this would happen.

His other arm was grasped in a deceptively gentle hold; both limbs were pulled together. Cliffjumper tugged weakly, knowing that his resistance would do nothing to help him; Soundwave quickly had both of his wrists held in one large hand.

The horrid burning was rising; he couldn’t curl up in this position, not like this. He hissed at the pain and grit his dentals all the harder; he had the feeling that the next few hours would likely be the worst of his life.

A towel brushed against his backside. Soundwave pressed the terry cloth against metal with a slow, careful precision; Cliffjumper had the feeling he was taking his time on purpose, waiting for the pain to gradually get worse.

By the time Soundwave had dried both himself and his captive, everything was on fire again. As soon as his arms had been released, the minibot couldn’t stop from curling up; he lay unmoving until Soundwave lifted him in to his arms. 

An attempt to curse only evicted a whimper; as he was set on the berth, Cliffjumper forced himself not to cry out again. He didn’t want to give the Decepticon that satisfaction. There was enough shame as it was with the way he had been screaming lately.

Hands on his frame refused to let him curl up again. Thighs against his own forced his legs apart.

The cool air of the main room washed over his nude interface array. It felt as if steam billowed from it; a quick, almost nonexistent flash of red lit up against the minibots’ HUD a brief second before Cliffjumpers’ cord decided it couldn’t stay housed any longer.

A mix of shame and revulsion coursed through the minibot at that; pain or not, it seemed his systems would be primed and ready to go. Optics were shut down; maybe he could endure this and get it over with.

He _could_ endure; he had no doubt about that. Soundwave would not win; he wouldn’t let him. He wouldn’t break down from _this_.

Something brushed against his cord; Cliffjumper couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden rush of pleasure that came with it. Inwardly, he cursed at the Decepticon and the energon he had been foolish enough to drink. An attempt was made to retract his cord; he was only a little annoyed to find that the commands didn’t work.

Whatever it was that had touched his cord did so again; as it did, the tip of Soundwave’s own began to push inside of his valve. The same slow care was taken as the last time; alongside the pain came an ecstatic rush the like of which Cliffjumper had never felt before.

Everything was still burning, but pleasure began to crash against it. By the time Soundwave had pushed himself all the way inside – and had apparently opened up his own valve to let Cliffjumpers’ full equipment to be abused – the two entirely different currents washed against each other in a way that left the minibot almost entirely unable to think.

The conflicting sensations of pleasure and pain enveloped the Autobot in such a way that he wasn’t even able to keep track of what was going on; the start of Soundwaves’ thrusting, although generally expected, still came as a shock. It was as if a fog had settled itself on his processor, leaving him able to only take stock of what was happening inside of his own body.

The friction of the cord inside of him and his own running against what smooth dermal plating it could reach sent spirals of heavenly bliss through his system; the burning settled against it, actually increasing what would have been sheer delight on it’s own, had it not been for the pain of the assault itself wrecking havoc on his sensors.

It became a tumultuous back and forth; Cliffjumper was barely aware of himself squirming in Soundwaves’ hold. What felt like a hand brushed against the top of his helm; it took some time to realize that his own hands had been free for at least several minutes and that he was actually holding on to his captor.

He couldn’t think; he tried to get his scattered mind together, only for another rush of pain and pleasure to erase it away. Every time he thought he could focus on something, _anything_ , to root himself in, it would be washed away in an intense wave of pure heat.

This was wrong. Everything still burned yet felt impossibly good at the same time; he wanted it all gone but also wanted more of it, just wanted something to happen so at least he could have one or the other. He could at least _think_ with one or the other and not have to rely on instincts that he barely even had. He wanted at least one of them to _stop_.

A whine came despite an attempt to repress it; it turned in to a moan. From there, he couldn’t stop the cries from flowing out; pain caused them, the pleasure caused them as well, and, somehow, he knew that he had _lost_.

He couldn’t take this. _He couldn’t take this._ The forced arousal pushed at overload, the pleasure driving in to what felt like his very spark with every thrust and push and grind; just as he felt that he was on the very cusp of letting it loose, the pain struck back and held it down. Release was so, so very close, yet held back agonizingly close to his grasp.

It was too much. A part of him no longer cared about the shame, the fear or the disgust of what Soundwave was doing to him; he just wanted it to be _over with_ , to just let it all out and to stop the pain from coming back.

Distantly, he heard hiccups, moans and cries. It took a moment to realize it was his own altered vocalizer making those noises. It was his voice, yet it wasn’t; Soundwave had changed that just as he had changed everything. Everything had been changed.

He found himself pushing against the Decepticon holding him down, but not with his hands; his valve pressed against the cord that would have been far too large had Soundwave used any more force, trying to gain that last _push_ , that last edge needed just to get that overload…!

When it finally hit, it hit hard; Cliffjumper screamed when it did. Both his valve and his cord had gone off; for a moment, the burning even went away.

The minibot had his mind free just long enough to feel horror seep in. Soundwave didn’t seem to notice he had overloaded at all and was still going, still thrusting in to the minibots’ valve; then, the fire began to rise again. With it came the pleasure.

Oh, Primus, _again_? How long was this going to go on? Cliffjumper didn’t even know how long it had been since the shower; how long had passed? How long was still left?

It didn’t take long before his processor was buried again, compounded by the burning _need_ of another go.

Overload came three more times to the minibot, accompanied only by the moans of both Autobot and Decepticon alike. If Soundwave had reached his own climax, Cliffjumper didn’t know. As the third cry of release evicted itself from his vocalizer, consciousness began to swim and darken.

Cliffjumper fell in to stasis; the last thing he was aware of was the slow, creeping rise of fear.


	11. Ssh

The first thing that Cliffjumper became aware of was that there was what felt suspiciously like a hand against his side. As consciousness slowly seeped in, the minibot decided that he very much did not like that hand. He also came to dislike the weight against his opposite-side shoulder and arm. Something about it all just seemed very, very _off_.

Optics snapped online; recollection of the previous night slammed against his processor with all the delicate mercy of a fusion cannon. As memories resurfaced and washed themselves in shock and horror, trembles began to overtake his frame. Despite forcing himself to try to stay as still as possible, he couldn’t stop the shaking.

Soundwave was still there. He was still there and they were both still on the berth. The large Decepticon was half on, half off of him; one arm and leg were pinned underneath him, and one of Soundwaves’ arms was strewn across his chassis. The hand was on his side; it held him close.

For a moment, Cliffjumper thought that his captor was still in stasis, but the dim light of the red visor said otherwise. Awake, then, although perhaps only just a little.

He was still shaking. Whatever Soundwave had put in the energon had worked perfectly. Far too perfectly; he could remember it so clearly, how he had writhed like some desperate pleasure drone. He had probably even moaned; he couldn’t remember sound very well – everything had been sensation, had been _touch_ – but he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had.

He had _squirmed_ , could remember that, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He had even _wanted_ it, to some extent, at the time. He couldn’t let that happen again. He didn’t want that to happen again. The pain of a much more violent rape was preferable to being manipulated and controlled like that.

A very soft hiss came from nearby; it took a moment to recognize it as a breath. The hand on his side began to move and slowly began to rub itself up and down his waist. It left a tickling sensation behind; he didn’t like it. It was disgusting.

This position was far too similar to what a pair of lovers would have; a sick churning began to form in the pit of Cliffjumpers’ tank. The minibots’ free leg shifted to the side, the closest he could get to pulling away; it was that small action that revealed the complete lack of any moisture.

Cliffjumper knew he had overloaded multiple times the previous night; yet, now, there wasn’t a speck of transfluid to be seen or felt. Had he actually _slept through_ Soundwave cleaning him off?

A shudder coursed through him. He needed to get up, he needed to get away from Soundwave and get away _now_.

“Interface: Delightful.” Somehow, Soundwave managed to sound happy. The roaming hand pulled the minibot closer.

Cliffjumper grabbed at the limb in question and tried to pry it off; it didn’t move. Still, even as he tried to free himself, he was _still_ shaking; the trembling was only getting worse. Memories of the past few nights and Soundwaves’ continued ministrations were becoming almost too much to bear. His body was practically rattling.

Now was not the time for an emotional breakdown. Cliffjumper took a deep breath to try and settle himself; now was not the time to let it all out. He could have an emotional breakdown later, when Soundwave was gone and there were no one to witness it. Now was not the time.

“Carerra: Beautiful.”

Cliffjumper jolted at that; he turned to glare as anger flooded him. He clung to that fury; it held him together. “That’s _not_ my name!” He tried to pull away; Soundwaves’ grip hardened to pin him down. “My name is Cliffjumper, you sick…!” A useless tug was given to Soundwaves’ arm. “Fraggit, let _go_!”

“Ssh.” Soundwave pressed his face guard against his captives’ audio. “Ssh.”

Cliffjumper growled, but the anger began to ebb in his helplessness. He couldn’t move and the area between his legs still ached like nothing else. Soundwave could easily _hurt_ him again, right here and now, if he wanted to. Terror was looming and, with it, was a lingering crack against his psyche.

There was still hope. A calm began to form at the thought; the Autobots would not leave him behind and, as far as he knew, had yet to mount a rescue for the others. They would notice he wasn’t with them. Perhaps, if he was lucky, Perceptor or Hound could put two and two together and figured out why he had been taken away.

He wasn’t stuck here. He would get out; the others would get him out if he couldn’t escape on his own. They would figure it out; they would figure out that this had happened, that he was being held here.

Cliffjumper glared at Soundwave as contempt filled him. He wouldn’t get away with this. For a moment, he wondered if the real Carerra had left because of similar abuse; Soundwave called him by that name, yet was apparently far too eager to bring him pain.

The Decepticon in question stared. “Compatibility: Had to be established.”

Well, that came out of left field. For a moment, Cliffjumper boggled in confusion; what was _that_ supposed to mean?

The hand was caressing his side again. “Durability: Tested.” As if it was some sort of explanation.

Wait; had that been in response to his thoughts? He hadn’t said anything out loud at all; Cliffjumper absolutely _knew_ he hadn’t said anything out loud.

Cliffjumper stilled at sudden recollection. Somehow, it had been forgotten in all the chaos and pain; the reason that no one came close to Soundwave in a fight if they could help it and why Autobot snipers always tried to take Soundwave out as soon as they saw him.

Cliffjumper gulped to steady himself. “You’ve been reading my mind.” It wasn’t a question.

“Affirmative.”

A slow, deep breath was taken. Then, the minibot glared. “Have you been inside my head this… This _entire fragging time_?!”

There was a very brief pause. Soundwave gave a slight nod. “Affirmative.”

The fury was rising, again. Frustration peaked with it; not only was his body being used in every manner of the word, but his own _mind_ wasn’t even safe. He wouldn’t be able to plan anything at all without Soundwave immediately knowing about it. Had that been why nothing had worked so far?

Once more, Cliffjumper tugged at the hand on his waist. It didn’t budge; the lack of success only inflamed the hate. He began to thrash, kicking his free leg and trying to pull his trapped limbs out from underneath the Decepticons’ bulk. “Get _off_ of me! Get _off, get off_!” A wordless scream of sheer rage flew from his vocalizer; hearing the thin, high pitched wail that should have been his voice only made it worse.

Soundwave was on him almost instantly; hands were held down and his body trapped to the berth. Fear sprung at the familiar position; the thrashing and screaming continued.

He had to get up, he had to hit Soundwave until he stopped moving, but Soundwave wasn’t letting him move. He was just so _angry_ that he wanted to _kill_ him and make him pay for everything that he had done and for still keeping him here. He would make him suffer –

The alarms went off.

The blaring klaxons and red lights that sputtered to life overhead came as such a shock, Cliffjumper stopped his struggles entirely. Even Soundwave seemed taken aback; he looked up at the flashing lights for several seconds.

Then, Soundwave let go of his Autobot prisoner and rushed off of the berth. Not a word was said; the Decepticon simply ran out of the room. In the brief few seconds that the door was open, Cliffjumper caught sight of several other bodies running past.

For a moment, Cliffjumper simply lied there and stared at the flashing lights. At first, he wasn’t certain what had just happened. Realization was slow.

The alarms and flashing lights could only mean one thing; the Decepticons were under attack. The rescue party must have finally made their way in.

Cliffjumper grinned in relief; this was it. He was finally getting out of here. The others would know he wasn’t in the cell and they’d come looking for him.

He just had to make sure that they found him.

With a grunt of pain, the minibot pushed himself off of the berth. Unsurprisingly, his legs were completely useless; he may as well not have them at all. A moment was spent trying to get himself to stand upright without collapsing, but that was quickly given up on in favor of actually moving.

Cliffjumper half dragged, half crawled to the door. He didn’t expect it to open and wasn’t put off when it didn’t. Instead, he sat upright and pounded on the metal.

” _Hey_! Hey, I’m in here! Prime, Prowl, anyone, _I’m in here_!”

They might not hear him right away; he knew that. So, he kept on pounding and yelling.

The alarms blared for several minutes. Then, above the din of klaxons and yells, the very distant sound of laser fire could be heard. Several short seconds after that, the sound of familiar voices – Autobot voices – yelling out came clear.

Cliffjumper couldn’t tell what, exactly, was being yelled, but the fact that he could hear them at all ignited hope.

“I’m in here! I’m in here!”

They heard him. They had to have heard him.

So, he continued to pound his fists. He kept going even when his hands began to hurt. Any moment, he thought, they could open the door and take him back to the ARK. Any moment, now, and he could be on his way home.

” _I’m in here_!”

Long minutes passed. The voices slowly began to die out. A slow trickle; the yells and cries of the Autobots began to be entirely covered and filtered out by those of the Decepticons. Then, even those began to fade away.

It felt like a very long time before Cliffjumper couldn’t hear them at all. All he could hear were the alarms.

That didn’t mean that they were gone; he kept on hitting the door, trying to make noise despite the ache forming in his hands. His arms were tired; he ignored it. “Hey!” He didn’t want to debase himself by begging, but the fear had begun to climb again. “Help me! I’m in here, someone help me!”

There was no response; at least, not right away. It took some time more for the alarms to finally shut off; they shut off mid-blare, ceasing so suddenly that it incited a gasp.

Silence set in.

No more yells, no more alarms. That was it? That fast? It was done, and he was still here?!

Cliffjumper shook his head in denial; he pounded on the door again. “No, no, no…”

It couldn’t have been over that quickly, could it?

“I’m in here…!”

\-----------

 

The rescue had gone as smoothly as they could have hoped for. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t any casualties as a result of the fairly daring attack on the Decepticons’ underwater base; as it was, Ratchet’s medbay was packed with the injured.

Not the least of which was Hound; they had found him with Perceptor in the Decepticon laboratory, missing a hand and sporting more cuts and wounds than anyone had tried to keep track of. The stump of his wrist bled clear until they had gotten him to the ARK. It was obvious that they had tortured him.

Hound had been treated first, being the worst of the injured, and had then been set in to a private room. Not long after, the rest of those that had been captured were with him; or, rather, those that had been found.

Sunstreaker and Perceptor sat by the medical berth. Minutes after they had sat down, Optimus Prime walked inside, flanked by the Special Ops; none of them looked the least bit pleased. The door closed behind them to grant them privacy.

“What happened to Cliffjumper?” That came from Prowl in his usual clipped tone; still, there was confern in his optics.

“The Decepticons took him somewhere. They wouldn’t tell us where.” Perceptor, hunched over in what looked like grief, shook his head.

Silence passed; Hound and Sunstreaker shared an unusual pensive glance. At least, unusual for Sunstreaker; that alone spoke that something was very, very wrong.

“What happened?” Jazz, this time, quick to pick up on the depressed atmosphere.

“It… It was something Skywarp said.” Hound gulped; his optics were wide and horror marred his faceplate. “Before they tried to use me to get Perceptor to build that weapon… We heard him before the seekers were near our cell. The first thing that he said…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “’Why can’t we have a ‘bot to frag?’”

The various Autobots seemed to stiffen at once; even Prime seemed taken aback as he stared at the bedridden tracker.

Hound shook his head. “Starscream told him to be quiet, but… His exact words after that were…” He paused a moment, gave a minute shudder, and looked to the Prime. “…‘But the little one’.”

“They wouldn’t tell us slag.” Disgust marred Sunstreakers’ face. “Tried to get ‘em to tell us _some_ thing, but the only thing we got was this creepy slag-eating grin on that fraggin’ seekers’ face. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, though.”

Silence fell again. Shock writ itself along multiple faceplates at this information.

The first sound came from Bumblebee; the yellow minibot leaned against a wall, seemingly ready to collapse. ” _Primus_ …!” It was barely a squeak; he looked to Optimus. “We have to go back in for him!”

“Unquestionably.” The Prime was visibly disturbed. “However, this does change the situation. Finding where the Decepticons are keeping him is our first priority.”

“Assuming that he’s still alive.” Perceptor’s whisper seemed far too loud in the small room.

There was no response to that for several seconds. They all remembered the films.

Bumblebee gave a quick shake of his head. “No. No way. He’s still alive. They’d… They’d probably dump the body in front of us if he…”

Another moment of silence passed.

“…We have to take in to account that they may not be keeping him in any one place.” Prowl frowned.

Multiple faceplates stared at their second in command with various levels of confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed. “What, you think they’d move him?”

Prowl did not look to any of the Autobots staring at him. Instead, his gaze was aimed downwards. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility that a captive used for such a thing could be moved regularly.”

“Primus…!” Bumblebee yelped again; he had begun to shake. “You think the Decepticons are _sharing_ him?!”

“Again, it’s not outside the realm of impossibility.” Prowl’s doorwings seemed to sag.

“Enough.” Optimus looked between the various Autobots. “At this point in time, finding Cliffjumper is our first priority. If the Decepticons are moving him on a regular basis, we need to establish this before we move in. However, for the time being, we will assume that he is being held in a single place.”

For several seconds, no one said anything at all.

Optimus let out a breath. “…This is classified. I don’t want rumors to start spreading before we know for absolute certain what the situation is. With luck, the Decepticons had planted false information of such barbaric actions to purposefully shock us. Although I doubt Cliffjumper is the epitome of health, there’s still some chance that he has not suffered _that_ cruelty.”

\-----------

 

Soundwave came back not too long after that. The Decepticon didn’t skip a beat; as soon as the door opened, he bent down to scoop the trembling Autobot in to his arms as if he were handling a lost newspark.

Cliffjumper flailed, kicked and screamed; demands to be released did nothing. Soundwave simply held him, one large hand keeping both of his smaller own held close. It didn’t take long for the sedation program to force the minibot in to exhaustion.

Still, there were weak tugs and pulls. If Soundwave even noticed, he gave no sign; steady, calm steps were taken through the room before the Decepticon sat back on one of the larger chairs. His captive was planted firmly in his lap.

The perversion wasn’t lost on the minibot; Cliffjumper swore once and squirmed again.

“Ssh. Ssh.” With that, Soundwave began to rock.

Any semblance of stability was suddenly lost; the shaking returned, and Cliffjumper couldn’t stop himself. The twisted rendition of comfort was both horribly disturbing and terrifying all at once.

His only saving grace was that he hadn’t been broken. Cliffjumper clung to that, held on to the belief that he was stronger than _this_.


	12. Scratch-n-Sniff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait; got distracted by school and life.

Soundwave didn’t stay for long. Less than twenty minutes after he had begun to cradle his deeply disturbed captive, he had stood, set the minibot in question on the chair, and then calmly left the room.

There had been no molestation or an attempt at another attack. Cliffjumper had been so absolutely certain that there would be that, for several seconds, he simply sat there in shock.

Still, for whatever reason, he had been left alone. What was that old saying? Don’t look at a gift too close?

Shakily, Cliffjumper took slow, deep breaths. He needed to calm down; he needed to be able to think. He couldn’t let all of this shake him too badly or things would just get worse. He had to take stock of the situation.

The others must have been rescued. The alarms had gone off and Soundwave had rushed out; there was simply no other explanation. The others were probably safely back in the ARK by now; they had known he had been taken off and would tell Prime. They would come back and look for him.

That would take some time, though. Sharing a room with Bumblebee had brought him more intel than what some of the other grunts probably got; the special ops spy had complained on more than a few occasions how difficult it was to get in and out of the Decepticon base without being noticed. He had even complained about how tricky it was to get in to some very specific areas, as well; one of which was the berthrooms of the higher ranking officers. It could theoretically take weeks, if not months, for his friends and allies to actually find where he was being held.

They would never suspect Soundwave was keeping him. Not right away, at least; he wouldn’t have believed it, himself, if this had happened to someone else. Half of the Decepticon fleet would have been more likely to be checked before the idea of the _Soundwave_ being responsible would even be a notion.

Cliffjumper ran a hand over his face; it was either wait for an eventual rescue or find a way to escape on his own. The latter was easier said than done; repeated assaults had left him practically unable to walk. Future assaults – and he made no attempt to fool himself in to thinking there wouldn’t be more attacks – would probably only make the matter of moving even worse.

What did that leave him with then, a waiting game? To simply endure and survive until someone got him out?

He knew that he _could_ endure this. He knew what to expect, now, knew what Soundwave was keeping him for; he would not break from this. He refused to; Soundwave would not break him. He simply hated to be so very helpless, was all; it wasn’t because he was _worried_.

He could endure this.

Oh, if only he had a gun.

So, that was the plan, then? Wait and hope? Somehow, it sounded more idiotic the more he ruminated on it. Frustration was climbing; he didn’t want to spend another moment here, didn’t want to have to deal with Soundwave’s insanity, didn’t want to have to wait for Bumblebee or Mirage to sneak through the vents to find him.

Wait. _The vents_ ; Cliffjumper perked up at the sudden thought. Bumblebee had always said the vents were the best way to get around. Why hadn’t he remembered that before?

Green optics looked up and around the room, trying to catch sight of where the ventilation shaft might have been placed. Every room had to have one, or it would be stifling and boiling hot in here. It was probably on a wall, someplace it could pump cool air in freely.

There it was; he spotted the dark metal grate stuck firmly in the wall right below the ceiling. Cliffjumper cringed at that; he had been hoping it was a little lower to the ground.

The room had been built for very tall Decepticons to live in. He could barely stand on his own two feet, let alone climb. That grate was very high up.

If he could get to it, he could probably fit inside of it. It looked large enough. The problem was actually getting there; getting things piled up for him to climb on top of made the most sense, but actually doing it seemed almost impossible in his current state.

As Cliffjumper considered exactly how to go about doing this, a hiss sounded in the room; at once, the minibot turned to look to the open door.

“I swear, Rumble, only you can get in to slag like this.” That came before he even saw who it was.

The blue recordicon in question was slung, one arm over his brothers’ shoulder and the other over an amused looking Ravage’s back. His twin, complaint aside, appeared as entertained as his four-legged compatriot.

Rumble let out a high pitched giggle that sounded every part of intoxicated. “But I didn’t know, Frenz…!” Another giggle. “Oh, that felt nice. Lift me a bit like that again, bro.”

Frenzy gave his twin a bemused stare. “The slag did you even _drink_?”

With that, the trio made their way in to the washracks. The door slid shut behind them.

For a moment, Cliffjumper stared at the closed door. Despite the fact that they were Decepticons, Soundwaves’ symbiotes acted strangely… _Normal_. They behaved in a way that he could have easily imagined going on back home in the ARK; even between his own friends. It disturbed him.

A short couple of minutes later, Ravage and Frenzy made their way back out of the washracks. In the few seconds that the door was open, the minibot could see Rumble laid out happily underneath the spray of water; the very same one he had been set beneath just the day before, in fact.

What was going on?

Did he even want to know?

“Where in the Pit did you get that cube, Ravage?” Frenzy gave the feline in question a pointed stare.

“Technically, it was only half a cube.” Came the response. Cliffjumper started in surprise; he hadn’t even known Ravage _could_ talk. The deep, strangely accented voice was tinged with mirth; it came in a rumble that somehow didn’t require the recordicon to move his jaw. “And it was not in any way my fault that he drank it.”

A small smirk crossed Frenzy’s face. “You left it on the floor right in front of him.”

“I intended to distill it in to a much more proper fuel. I stand by my statement that Frenzy swooped in faster than Laserbeak on a rust stick high.”

Frenzy let out a laugh. “You still didn’t tell me where you got it.”

Ravage didn’t answer; instead, he turned to stare right at the silently observing minibot nearby.

Frenzy turned to look as well; confusion crossed his faceplate. Cliffjumper frowned deeply, unsure what to expect.

“…You had that cube?” Frenzy frowned right back.

Cliffjumper paused, surprised that he was being dragged in to this conversation. “I… Have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There had been a half filled cube of energon.” Ravage clarified. “It had been on the table when I came in here yesterday.”

Cliffjumper growled. “Blame Soundwave for that one.”

“The Boss gave you that?” Frenzy’s optics widened; he appeared shocked. “He gave you a whole cube of that… Stuff… In the…”

A loud, impassioned moan came from the washracks.

Immediately, humor crossed both of the other cassettes’ faces; they both turned to stare at the door.

“Yes… _Yes_ …!”

“Rumble! Bro! We can hear you out here!”

” _I don’t care!_ ” Came the sung reply.

Cliffjumper grimaced in disgust.

\------------

 

Rumble stayed in the washracks for quite some time. Not for lack of trying, however; in the span of three hours, the recordicon had attempted to escape no less than four times. Every time, his brothers – at least, Cliffjumper wasn’t certain what else to call them. How were they related? _Were_ they related? – had pushed him back inside with the order to stay until he was ‘better’.

So, Rumble had stayed. The entire time, ecstatic moans and cries came from the closed off room. To compensate – or to attempt to, Cliffjumper supposed –, Frenzy had turned on the largest screen in the room and ramped up the volume.

Some human comedy, complete with a fake laugh track, blared on the screen. Frenzy sat back on a couch to watch. Ravage laid, seemingly content, on a squat pillow-lined tray that seemed made for him. It probably was.

Neither of the cassettes paid any mind to the minibot in the room with them. Cliffjumper wasn’t certain how to take this; they had seemed thoroughly disturbed by his presence not too long beforehand yet were now seemingly content to have him there. Had they given up trying to convince their superior to stop what he was doing? Were they just going to move on as if he belonged there?

Cliffjumper glared at the floor; he wasn’t going to be stuck here forever. He would get out, one way or another.

Frenzy made some joke that he had only half heard; something involving a cat food commercial and Ravage. The black cassette in question threw a pillow at him in response; Frenzy laughed as the pillow struck his face. Then, he sat back on the couch; both of the small Decepticons seemed at peace.

Cliffjumper was sorely tempted to make things difficult for them. Their comfort almost seemed to mock him; here he was, suffering and sedated, and they were lounging about as if everything was perfectly all right. There were various small knickknacks and devices all over the room; he could easily start trashing the place and throw everything around.

Walking would make causing chaos easier. If only he could manage that much.

After the first attack, when he had been completely unable to move, he _had_ been able to walk right after. Granted, it had been with a limp, but he had managed. Perhaps he needed to adjust to whatever damage that had been done inside of his body from so many assaults; isn’t that what those with bodily trauma did? They got up and worked at it until they could move again. Exercising the wound to make it heal faster? That was a thing, right?

With a grunt, the minibot pushed himself off the chair that he had been set on. Immediately, with a sharp, stabbing pain, he collapsed. He had known that that was going to happen; he grabbed for the arm rest to pull himself up again; his legs shook and his interface equipment flared in agony from the movement.

Everything hurt; his legs trembled and even his internals felt as if it were going to melt out of him unless he stopped. Stubbornly, he didn’t; breaths came in heaved as he tried to pull himself in to a standing position.

It didn’t take long to fail; Cliffjumper let go of the chair for only a moment – just to get a tighter grip – and his frame fell as soon as he did so. With a frustrated growl, the minibot grabbed the chair to try again.

Silence came from behind him; the two cassettes made no sound. He suspected that they were watching him.

_”What?”_ Cliffjumper barked out before he thought to stop himself.

“…Nothing.” Frenzy actually sounded sheepish; as if he had been caught doing something wrong. “Nothing at all.”

Cliffjumper snarled; he chose to ignore them. His fans turned on, trying to cool strained systems as he continued his attempts to stand. Under his breath, the minibot cursed and swore.

 

\----------------

Eventually, the three recordicons left. When they did, Frenzy half dragged a giggling, drunken Rumble behind him. Both of the sober cassettes appeared pensive.

Cliffjumper was still trying to stand. The attempts had gone on for long enough that his arms were starting to refuse to cooperate; it was frustrating to have such a simple action take so much out of him. He hadn’t even begun to try walking; standing should have been elementary at best. ‘Should’ being the operative word.

It had been hours. How many, he wasn’t even sure; he hadn’t counted and his chronometer had been neglected for too long for the current time stamp to mean anything.

Soundwave was going to come back soon. He knew that. Eventually, the Decepticon would walk back inside of the room and would almost certainly attack him again.

How many times would this one make? Four, five? Things were starting to blur together. He hadn’t even been here that long, he thought, for time to start losing meaning; he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

His sense of timing must have been spot on, however; not too long after expecting Soundwaves’ arrival, the door slid open to reveal the Decepticon in question.

Everything was silent. Cliffjumper finally allowed himself to fall, but looked up to glare; he refused to be cowed and broken. If Soundwave expected a passive mech, he would be sorely mistaken.

Soundwave stared back at him. With visor and face guard in place, it was impossible to tell what the Decepticon was thinking. Quietly, steps were taken in to the room.

Cliffjumper continued to glare; his gaze followed his torturer as he was bypassed completely. Soundwave made no attempt to get close; instead, he made his way for a small table nearby, pulled something out of subspace, and set it down on the flat surface.

An energon cube. 

Oh, that’s right, Soundwave was still trying to get _those_ in to his system. Cliffjumper growled at it; he wouldn’t take it if his life depended on it. Not again.

Once the cube was on the table, Soundwave turned to stare at him. Several seconds of silence passed; then, he began to walk closer.

The attempts to stand had left the minibot on the floor by the chair. At the approaching Decepticon, Ciffjumper began to scurry backwards; there wasn’t much room behind him, and he knew it. As his back hit the chair, Soundwave loomed above him.

Cliffjumper grit his dentals and trembled from a mix of fury and fearful anticipation. “Are you going to _rape_ me again, you sick freak?” It was intended as a barb.

Soundwave slowly kneeled; one hand shot forward to grab at his captives’ jaw as soon as he was down. No words were spoken; Soundwave leaned forward. The face guard slid aside a split second before their lips met. The timing had been close enough that Cliffjumper could actually feel the metal split apart. 

The Autobot kept his mouth clenched shut, but gave an angry yell in to the kiss regardless. Small hands grabbed at the arm holding him still and tried to pull it loose.

If Soundwave cared about the resistance, he gave no sign; the kiss, on his end, was passionate.

It felt like far too long before he pulled back; as soon as his jaw was let go, Cliffjumper grimaced and looked away. However, Soundwave didn’t pull back; instead, he moved forward; the Decepticon’s face – still bereft of mask – buried itself in the minibots’ neck. Cliffjumper jolted in shock.

Soundwave inhaled deeply through his nose; was he _smelling_ him? Cliffjumper couldn’t help but shudder.

“You sick… Sick… Sick, fragged-up…” The minibot shook; fury began to course through him.

“Time: Currently insufficient.” Soundwave rumbled in to an audio. Then, he finally began to pull away; he did so with visible reluctance. Even as he moved to stand again, he moved slowly.

Cliffjumper pressed himself against the edge of the chair; he shuddered, but couldn’t bring himself to look up at the Decepticon again. Instead, his gaze was aimed at the floor some distance away.

He heard more than saw Soundwave actually leaving; the footsteps echoed in the silence. The door sliding shut sounded louder than it normally did.

Several seconds of silence passed.

“Fragged up _glitch_!” Cliffjumper slammed a palm in to the floor next to him. Then, he took deep breaths and tried to force the shaking to subside.


	13. Splatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Midterms, papers... Life. Bleh.

For what felt like a very long time, Cliffjumper simply sat there. He didn’t focus on anything in particular; he didn’t really _look_ at anything at all. For the moment, he concentrated on simply breathing.

That had been creepy. Granted, everything that had been going on had been nothing _but_ creepy from the moment of his capture, but what had just happened had been a little bit more than that. He hadn’t known that something like a Decepticon _smelling_ him could be so thoroughly revolting.

He had absolutely no idea what was going on any more.

Cliffjumper had thought that he had figured it out. The repainting, the renaming, the slow, careful assaults in the berth; it had all pointed to Soundwave fixing him up for fantasy. It had been obvious that Soundwave knew how to interface with someone so much smaller than he was without damaging them; he had thought that the Decepticon, sick as he was, had just picked him out due to physical similarity to the long dead real thing.

Soundwave had confirmed what he had done – what he was still doing – had been rape. There had been no attempt to deny it.

He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know if it even meant anything at all. Still, it was bothering him; if Soundwave was delusional, shouldn’t he have denied what he was doing?

Cliffjumper didn’t know the first thing about psychology; he had always laughed at those that did, that had said so many times that war was as much thought as it was combat. Now, he wished that someone who knew enough about it was there to figure this out, was there to figure out what Soundwave could possibly be thinking. Maybe if he knew _that_ , he could figure out how to fight it.

A deep breath was taken; he had to calm down. Disturbed as he was, he had to take stock of things; he had to plan.

Fighting back physically was proving less and less effective as time went by. Really, there wasn’t much he could do; the sedatives and sustained injuries made it nearly impossible. Escape might still be a possibility, but he had to be careful about that; with telepathy in play, he couldn’t let himself entertain the notion around Soundwave. At least, he hoped that was how telepathy worked, that he had to be present to ‘hear’ him.

What did that leave him with, then? Waiting, again? He already knew that it could take a very long time for anyone to find him.

He didn’t know how long he could take this.

The Autobots would be looking for him; he had to put up some sort of sign. There had to be a way to let his friends and allies know where he was. He knew that, sometimes, the aquatic Autobots would make distanced patrols around the Decepticon base; perhaps they would even make more runs knowing he was in here. If there was a window here, he might be able to put something up.

Slowly, Cliffjumper glanced around the room. At first, he saw nothing of use; the walls seemed bereft of any portholes or standard glass panes. There were barely even decorations; just plain, gray walls.

It took frustratingly long minutes to finally spot it; a tiny little thing that was almost on the floor. For some reason, it was underneath a higher-set table and had a pillow half covering it. A round thing; it looked vaguely familiar. The ARK had similar windows, but he had no idea why they were built the way that they were.

It was small. It was doubtful anyone swimming outside would even notice it; not in contrast to how large the Decepticon base probably was in comparison. Still, it was the only thing that he had to work with.

Now, all he needed was some way to mark it.

A sudden idea formed; there had been tins of paint that Soundwave had used during his repainting. Perhaps they were still around. Debating with himself on where Soundwave would keep such a thing, Cliffjumper wound up looking to the desk by the door.

Soundwave had repainted him on that desk. The drawers were also fairly low to the floor; it would be the easiest place to look. If he was lucky, the paint tins would be in there.

Determined, Cliffjumper braced himself for the arduous task of crawling. Walking was still an impossibility and, although moving at all tended to be painful, pulling himself along on his hands and knees had so far been the best way to get around.

By the time he reached the desk, what felt like a great deal of time later, he was panting. It had otherwise been a short distance; the minibot swore at the current state of things. It should not have taken that much effort to get there.

Thankfully, the bottom drawers were, in fact, set very low. Sitting upright, Cliffjumper could easily pull them open and reach inside. So, he grabbed at the closest handle and pulled.

Green optics looked inside. The minibot immediately paused in stunned surprise. Then, he let out an incredulous laugh.

There they were; the first place checked. Round, color-coded cans stacked neatly atop each other. The lids even had tabs prominently marked ‘easy to open’.

It seemed someone out there was finally taking pity on him. Finally, something was going right.

Cans were pushed aside in search of a good, bold color. Something that was bright and easy to spot. After a moment, a bright red – a few shades brighter then he had been before Soundwave had altered him – was picked out.

Good, good; this was perfect. The water outside was blue and the outside of the Decepticon base was a dark purple; red would be more noticeable. With a wide grin, the minibot grabbed the can’s thin handle in one hand and began to crawl away again.

Thankfully, there was nothing on or around the window that really needed to be moved. No protective mesh, no secondary windowpane, not even a curtain. It almost seemed forgotten; once the pillow was thrown aside and the table crawled under, Cliffjumper had easy access to it.

For a window, it was impossibly small. If, by some miracle, the window could be opened, even a recordicon wouldn’t be able to crawl out of it. However, that wasn’t what he wanted to do; the can was pulled closer and opened. With no brush, the minibot eagerly shoved his hands inside the red liquid.

Cliffjumper had never been artistic. He had never had any love for art, really; the most detail he could bring to what he wanted to do now was barely more than basic finger painting. Still, he was glad to do so; a circle was painted on the window followed by a few stroked lines.

It only took a few seconds to paint the crude, basic Autobot distress beacon. Granted, it was the sort of thing found on flickering on-screen maps, but it was all that he had to work with. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Then, the minibot crawled back out from underneath the table. The can, spilling a few drops along the way, was pulled by the handle after.

For several minutes, Cliffjumper stared at the swirling mass of red paint. If he left his hands the way that they were, the paint would dry and would need thinner to be removed. Ideas began to form; vindictive, petty concepts, but ideas nonetheless.

Soundwave had gone through a great deal of trouble to repaint him. He had spent hours upon hours altering him. The horror of that event had faded enough to feel nothing more than deep resentment and anger; repeated assaults had been so terrible that the physical changes now felt like a lesser evil.

There were very few ways to fight back against everything that had happened. If the most he could manage was to use petty, juvenile tactics against the Decepticon, then so be it.

With that set in his mind, Cliffjumper gladly lifted the paint tin and spilled it all over him. Thick red fluid fell over his head and down the rest of his frame; he kept his head bowed to avoid his optics. He only wanted to get the paint all over him, not blind himself.

It was strangely gratifying. The paint, still wet, was bright; it was a far different shade from the blue that Soundwave had forced on him. The minibot grinned at the mess created around him.

Cliffjumper embraced it. With newfound delight, he threw the near empty can across the room; droplets spilled along the way.

Suddenly, the minibot realized that he was alone. There were no cassettes here, and Soundwave could be gone for a couple of hours yet. It gave him a precious few minutes – perhaps longer – to finally wreck some havoc.

With a wide grin, Cliffjumper crawled back towards the desk; a streak of red was left in his wake. The minibot laughed as he realized it; if Soundwave was going to keep him prisoner in here, he wasn’t going to take it quietly.

A random can of paint was picked up and unlatched. He didn’t even bother to aim or even to check what color it was; he just threw it. Bright yellow spilled along the floor, a part of the wall, and a good portion of the berth.

Cliffjumper grinned and grabbed the next can.

\-------

By the time Soundwave came back, the entire room had been completely and thoroughly trashed. Paint covered everything that Cliffjumper had been able to reach; the energon cube had even been spilled along a shelf. 

None of the cassettes had been inside the room since the day before; it was probably the only reason why the Decepticon looked so completely and utterly shocked when he walked in.

From the middle of the chaos, Cliffjumper – paint long dried in to a mismatched mess of blue and red – grinned wickedly.

Soundwave gave the minibot a wide-optic, stunned stare; it was the funniest thing Cliffjumper could recall seeing. He hadn’t even known an optical band could grow like that. The grin grew wider.

It took several seconds for the Decepticon to react. When he did, he slowly reached for the desk by the door. He didn’t even look to see what he was grabbing; his gaze was still aimed on his prisoner. It took a moment of blind groping inside an upper drawer to pull out a very familiar device.

The mirth faded from Cliffjumpers’ face; he growled and glared but made no attempt to run. There was no place to run _to_ , let alone the ability to do so.

Still, as Soundwave approached with the medical access plug in hand – steps slow and even but expression still shocked –, Cliffjumper leaned away. However, it wasn’t the only way he could show his resistance; once the telepath was close enough, he spat at him.

Either Soundwave hadn’t been using his ability or he simply hadn’t thought it was a threat; either way, it landed on his arm.

Soundwave shook his head, reached around the minibot, and pressed in the plug.

**Sedation Protocols: 100%**

**3… 2… 1…**

The world swirled; then, everything went black.

\---------

When Cliffjumper woke up, he found himself on the desk. It only took him a few seconds to remember what was going on; he was then completely unsurprised to find that the overhead lamps were glaring down at him.

Internally, he grumbled; he was also unsurprised to find himself unable to move. Fully sedated again again; his antics had only earned him another repaint.

Well, at least he had managed to give Soundwave a little bit of extra trouble. That had to be something, at least.

Movement from the side of his vision caught his attention. Optics had to be strained against in order to see – the same way as the first time, much to the minibots’ annoyance – but once he caught sight of it, a swell of smug joy coursed through him.

Soundwave stood a short distance away. The expression on his face – mask and optical band in place, but unhelpful for once – was clearly annoyed. For an ordinarily stoic Decepticon, this _meant_ something.

Soundwave was unhappy with the mess he had caused; good. Cliffjumper would have laughed had he been able; he might have to trash the room again if this was the reaction he received.

The annoyance splayed on the Decepticon’s face shifted; somehow, Cliffjumper had the impression that he was scowling.

Oh, that’s right; telepathy. He may have been paralyzed, but Soundwave could still hear him. With that recollection, Cliffjumper gleefully thought of how nice it would have been to drown the Decepticon in paint until his filters clogged and overheating set in.

For a long while longer, the paralyzed minibot fantasized about the many ways he would happily murder his captor. Knowing full well that every thought could be heard, he eagerly ramped up the details in his mind to what the physically impossible.

The entire time, Soundwave stood there and glared. Cliffjumper didn’t know what the telepath was thinking and, for now, truly did not care. He was already being held captive and being assaulted on a regular basis; what else could Soundwave do to him?

After a while – Cliffjumper had not been paying attention to exactly how many minutes had passed –, the overhead lamps were shut down. Soundwave pressed a hand against his captives’ abdomen, pulled it back, and looked at it; checking to see if the paint was dry. 

Cliffjumper was not alarmed; he had been through this before. It was very likely that, much like the last time, he would be forced in to interface again. Internally, he cursed at Soundwave for all that he was doing.

He expected that Soundwave would pick him up and take him to the berth. Instead, large blue hands grabbed his sides and set the unmoving minibot upright; it took some manipulating to get the limp frame in to a sitting position.

From his new vantage point, Cliffjumper could see that the room had been cleaned. At least, what part of the room he could see from around Soundwaves’ frame; the paint he had thrown was no longer there.

There came a click; Cliffjumper looked back to the source; Soundwaves’ panel slid aside.

For a moment, the minibot was stunned. They were going to interface right there on the desk? Really? There was no fear; merely surprise. He hadn’t expected Soundwave to try and get _creative_ with the assaults.

Internally, he let out a bitter sigh before shutting off his optics. He wouldn’t be able to feel most of it around the sedation program’s current levels; he may as well just wait for it to be over.

Soundwave wrapped one arm around his captive in a bear hug; his free hand rested on the back of Cliffjumpers’ head. He held his captive for several seconds; then, he began to slowly press his cord inside.

The pain was the same as the first assault; uncomfortable pinpricks all along his valve. Certainly no where near the levels of a normal attack; not with the sedation program. For a moment, Cliffjumper was almost glad to have the program running; all he had to do was wait.

Soundwave was moving; the cord reached the end of his valve, sending a brief flash of pain. With it, Cliffjumper felt himself be lifted off of the desk for a brief moment; as the cord was pulled back, he was set back down.

Well, _that_ was probably going to hurt later. Internally, Cliffjumper growled.

The thrusts began to subtly pick up in speed; it was, so far, how Soundwave usually did this sort of thing. The first few would be slow and careful, taking his time to avoid damage, only to then increase in tempo as the much smaller valve adjusted. Currently, he was still taking things slow.

The fact that he knew exactly how Soundwave ordinarily interfaced sent a wave of disgust through Cliffjumpers’ processor.

There came a click; the minibot startled, not expecting the sound. He couldn’t see anything past the dark gray of Soundwaves’ cassette holster in his chassis; what sounded like a rustling noise came from behind him.

Something pressed in to the back of his neck; the medical access port set there let out another click.

**Medical Override Accepted: Sedation Program Reduction: 5:00 ... 4:59 … 4:58 …**

Soundwave had plugged in the medical device again? While this was going on? Why?

The Decepticon in question was still thrusting in to him, but it was still at a fairly slow pace. He wouldn’t actually be finished for a _while_.

**… 4:01 … 4:00 … 3:59 ...**

Oh, _Pit_ , no. There was absolutely no way Soundwave would be out of him in less than that. He was going to go from sensory deprivation to full out rape; it had been agony going from feeling nothing to the aftermath the first time around.

Soundwave shoved himself inside with a touch more speed; the one-armed hug tightened as Cliffjumper felt himself be lifted even higher from the force.

**… 2:49 … 2:48 … 2:47 …**

This was probably going to hurt like nothing else. Soundwave had to have done this on purpose; some sort of punishment for the paint. There was no other explanation.

One hand was still on his helm. Soundwave pressed his face mask in to the top of his head; what passed for a moan escaped the Decepticon’s vocalizer. It was barely more than a monotone hum.

**… 1:12 … 1:11 … 1:10 …**

Cliffjumper stared at the timer. He braced himself the best that he could; he hoped that he wouldn’t scream. He didn’t want to give Soundwave that sort of satisfaction.

**… 0:35 … 0:34 … 0:33 …**

Suddenly, Soundwave stilled. He went rigid, cord still deeply inside of his prisoner. He stood, unmoving, clutching the minibot close.

**… 0:05 … 0:04 … 0:03 …**

The grip around his frame tightened.

**… 0:02 … 0:01 …**

All at once, feeling returned. Sensation flooded the minibot in a swoop of pain; agony flooded him, coursing from the junction between his legs. Cliffjumper screamed, optics still shut down; unable to help himself, he thrashed, legs kicking from either side of Soundwaves’ frame and entire chassis twitching.

The grip on his frame held firm; the cord inside of him didn’t move. The face mask was still pressed against his helm.

“Ssh… Ssh.”

Cliffjumper heaved and panted; he hadn’t been wrong about the pain. “ _Fragged up glitch!_ ” A pain-filled moan couldn’t be restrained. “I’m going to _kill_ you, you sick… Sick…!”

“Ssh.” Soundwave repeated; the hand at the back of the minibots’ helm began to stroke. “Ssh. Carerra: Safe.”

“ _Safe?!_ You call this _safe?!_ ” Cliffjumper heaved; rage coursed through him as his frame began to tremble. It took a moment to realize that he hadn’t even denied the name. “That’s not even – “ Soundwave began to pull out; a pain-filled gasp erupted.

“Carerra: Safe. Soundwave: Present.” Soundwave’s tone seemed calmer than it ordinarily did; his voice was only slightly above a whisper.

Cliffjumper openly gaped; it was as if Soundwave didn’t even hear him. “You’re fragged up in the head, you sick freak!” The cord began to push in again; he choked at the pain. “Why are you _doing_ this?! I’m not him, you _know_ I’m not him!”

There came a pause; Soundwave even stopped, halfway inside of his prisoner. It took a long few seconds for the Decepticon to respond. “…Affirmative.”

Cliffjumper took in a deep breath; he tried to form words, but nothing came out. He didn’t know how to respond to that.

The hand on the back of his helm was all out petting him, now; he shuddered in disgust.

“Resurrection: Not the goal.” Soundwave almost sounded contemplative. “Objective: Recreation.”

Cliffjumper sputtered; as Soundwaves’ cord pushed itself further inside, he snarled. The _way_ he said it; he wanted to _turn him in to_ Carerra?! “Recre… Not gonna work, you sick…!”

“Acceptance: Eventual.” The pace had begun to pick up again.

“You’re going to have to _reprogram_ me before I ever do what you want!” It wasn’t said lightly; Cliffjumper twitched in Soundwaves’ grip.

The petting against his head stopped. “Reprogramming: Still possible.”

Cliffjumper stopped at that; cold fear clutched at him. “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t’ve done all this slag if you just planned to…!” He choked as he was lifted off of the desk.

“Methods: Experimental.” Soundwave kept him there for several long seconds; then, he began to pull back to set him back down. “Reprogramming: Secondary plan.”

Cliffjumper fell silent.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIDTERMS.
> 
> Someone tell me why I thought it was a good idea to take two science courses in one term? Because it wasn't.

Falling in to recharge became an impossible task that night. No matter how heavy the exhaustion -- energy seemed to seep away from his very frame, as of late, and he wasn't sure if it was the sedation program or recent activity that did it --, it was simply too far out of his grasp. This time, it wasn't only because Soundwave was on top of him, pinning him to the berth. Soundwave seemed to like to do that, to hold him.

Throughout the night, Cliffjumper stared at the ceiling past the Decepticon's shoulder, thoughts swirling in a sickening, churning mess of fear and discomfort. For now, he didn't care that Soundwave might be listening to his thoughts. Granted, he was pretty sure that Soundwave was asleep, but Cliffjumper would not have been surprised if he could still hear him. Could telepaths 'record' thoughts? He didn't know.

A threat had been made and it had been all too clear. Reprogramming; it was a fate worse than death. Although, arguably, so was what he was currently being put through, but at least he still had his mind; at least there was a chance of recovery when -- if -- _when_ he got out of here. Reprogramming, however, would take that all away with no hope of recovery.

No one _really_ knew what happened to those that were reprogrammed. Although a spare few that had been through the process had been rescued at various points throughout the war, they had all been such shattered remains of their former selves that it was anyone's guess what was actually going on inside their heads. The few that Cliffjumper had once been curious enough to read about had been so drastically different from what they had once been; some were little more than drones, others became violent, raging machines that attacked anyone and anything that neared them.

No one knew what happened to their minds; none that survived had the capacity to really speak of it. Processor scans and psychotherapists proved to be of little help; the reprogrammed people that survived were broken things missing parts of their minds and practically their sparks.

Soundwave had been clear; if his 'experiments' did not work out to his liking -- Cliffjumper could only assume he had meant some sort of conditioning --, then he would be reprogrammed. Really, he should have wondered why he hadn't bothered to do it to begin with, especially after the repainting and such detailed alterations; he _should_ have known that Soundwave would have had something like this planned.

The Autobots would come for him. He knew that; they had never abandoned anyone before. They would look for him and they would find him; it was only a matter of time. Days, weeks, possibly months; Cliffjumper knew that it wouldn't be instant. He hoped that it wouldn't be years.

Years. Could he survive here for years? Could he stay sane here, like this, for _years_?

No, it wouldn't take years. His friends were better than that; they would find him before that.

Until then, though, he had to hold out. He had to keep his mind intact; if he lost that to reprogramming, then there would be nothing left. He couldn't even imagine what that would even be like; the concept of having his processor physically tampered with terrified him in a way that nothing else did.

Soundwave had no intention of killing him. He also had no intention of holding him hostage or even so much as letting him out of this room. Soundwave was going to keep him here and was going to keep calling him by his dead lovers name; he was going to keep raping him as he did so. Cliffjumper had thought that fighting back had been the best way to voice his hate; if reprogramming was the end result, then it was counterproductive at best.

There was no other choice. Soundwave had left him with no other choice. If he wanted to keep his mind, he was going to have to take all of this quietly; he was going to have to force himself not to resist.

He hoped that it would be enough.

 

\--------------

 

Eventually, Soundwave stirred. When he did, Cliffjumper didn't react; there was no attempt to pull away, no attempt to curse or scream and no attempt to escape in any way. Instead, the blue minibot simply lied there and waited for the Decepticon to leave.

At least his cord hadn't been in him; that was the only good part about the morning. There was nothing to pull out of an abused valve.

Expression was hidden behind a face guard and gleaming red visor; Cliffjumper tried to gauge what Soundwave was thinking, but, as usual, couldn't get anything more than a seemingly blank stare. Soundwave's gaze was fixed on him for only a few seconds; then, he walked in to the washracks as he always did every morning.

Once the sound of the pipes turning on and echoed from the closed door, Cliffjumper pulled himself off of the berth. His valve ached more than usual; he blamed the painful position on the desk from the day before. He hoped Soundwave wouldn't get any more creative ideas on positions; on the berth was bad enough as it was.

Getting to the floor came with a crash and a pain-filled jostling of his valve. He still couldn't walk; his legs _still_ refused to function, trembling at every attempt to do so, and his fuel pump always beat in time to the throbbing pain from his stomach and interface equipment when he tried. Cliffjumper briefly wondered if he would ever walk again; the thought was chased away in favor of actually moving.

By the time Soundwave was heading out of the washracks -- gleaming armor dry and shined --, the captive Autobot had managed to drag himself to a small alcove between a table and a chair. The minibot had curled up, leaning against the chair in question. Soundwave glanced at his prisoner; a silent glare was given in response.

Soundwave tilted his head to the side, as if in consideration. A moment of tense silence passed; Cliffjumper couldn't bring himself to break the glare as a flash of stubborn defiance emerged. He continued to stare even as Soundwave looked away, turned and quietly left the room.

There was nothing but silence. Another day, another torment; a whole new slew of hours he would have to live through.

Slowly, Cliffjumper looked around the room. He was unsurprised to find that almost all of the paint was gone. All that was left were a few specks; some splatter in a corner, a datapad edge lined with bright pink, and what looked like a swirl of purple and yellow staining the fabric of a small couch. They were remnants of his protest; a swell of pride swam through him at what little that couldn't be washed away.

His gaze around the room soon landed on the window. Or, rather, on the pillow that had been placed back to cover it. The tiny porthole underneath the table. Although knowing that the mark had likely been washed off, Cliffjumper began to crawl for the tiny space where it lay; he had to know for certain. Perhaps he could paint a new sign there; if he put the pillow back and kept himself from thinking about it, then Soundwave might never even know.

It took several long minutes to get there; the journey exhausted him and left the minibot heaving. When he had his body under control again, the pillow was pulled back in expectation of clear, clean glass.

Instead, a sheet of a strange, yellow-tinged covering showed itself. Cliffjumper stared at it, at first not even knowing what it was. A hand had to be placed against it and the material felt; it was paint. The slick, smooth surface of it, however, seemed unlike the standard fare he had tossed about the day before. It felt almost as if it had been primed; what would have been the point of painting over the window and priming it?

With a deep frown, Cliffjumper stared at the window; it took a moment -- and a passing fish that let out a bright golden glow -- to reveal that he could actually see _through_ the paint under certain lighting. Not only that, but the mark that he had left the day before was still there; he could see the dark streaks through the yellow that was now atop it.

What the yellow actually was could only be theorized; was that glow-in-the-dark paint? Reflective? The Autobot distress beacon was still there, just painted over; it certainly didn't stop anyone that may be swimming outside from seeing it, just anyone _inside_. Why would Soundwave do such a thing?

Had it even been Soundwave? Had the cassettes painted it over, perhaps not knowing what it was?

As he tried to figure out the why, a hiss filled the air. Cliffjumper shoved the pillow back behind him and turned to stare at the open door.

Ravage quietly walked inside. The recordicon didn't even glance at the Autobot prisoner; he instead sauntered to a large box, flipped the top open with a paw, and promptly dove inside. The sound of shuffling came soon after.

For a moment, Cliffjumper simply sat where he was and leaned against the pillow. He was tempted to wait until Ravage was gone before moving again; the pillow might slip if he did. Especially with the way he had to crawl everywhere. It helped that the pillow was actually rather comfortable; recharge tempted him.

After a few minutes, Ravage hopped out of the box. A round, metal device Cliffjumper couldn't hope to identify was clung in the recordicon's jaw. A hind leg was used to close the box again; then, he began to leave.

Cliffjumper sat in silence. He watched as the four-legged cassette slowed his pace the further he moved away; the minibot frowned as Ravage stopped just before the door.

Slowly -- and he thought _reluctantly_ \--, Ravage looked back. The metal thing in his jaw was set on the ground.

"We can't help you escape, you understand. Not actively."

Cliffjumper's optics widened in shock. His mouth opened and closed in the attempt to form some sort of response; he hadn't even entertained the notion of the cassettes _helping_ him. If anything, he expected them to get in the way.

Ravage continued to stare for a moment; at the lack of response, he let out a breath. "However… We won't stop you from trying. We don't want you here." There was clear animosity in his tone.

With that, the metal device was picked up once more. Then, Ravage ran out of the room.

Cliffjumper was left sputtering; it took a while to understand everything that had been said.

 

\---------------

 

The pillow ended up being more comfortable than he had thought. As Cliffjumper tried to think about Ravage’s words -- as well as wondering why he said it at all and if he had been truthful or not --, he had slipped in to recharge. The plush fabric and overhead desk was a far cry from Soundwaves' heavy frame and the stiff berth.

Sensation, however, woke him from it. It seemed to be nothing, at first, and a half asleep processor was tempted to ignore it in favor of a rather nice rest. However, the feeling of something brushing itself along his faceplate became too much of an annoyance; slowly, optics lit online again.

Annoyance was quickly replaced with panic; optics widened and his jaw clenched at the sight in front of him. Soundwave knelt, crouching to be seen from underneath the table; the digits of one hand were brushing itself along the side of the minibot's face. It somehow felt as if Soundwave had been there for some time.

A quick glance around Soundwave's bulk brought several facts to focus; two sets of filled cubes were set on a nearby table, what looked like either Rumble or Frenzy's legs were hanging off of a couch, and that Soundwave had several scuff marks along his frame.

What was going on? Something had happened and he wasn't certain if he should be concerned or not. Well, if he should be more concerned than usual. Had there been a fight? Had the Autobots been involved? Had they _tried_?

However, Cliffjumper said nothing. Past experience told him that Soundwave couldn't stay for long. He did, however, glare at Soundwave again, unable to help the hate that bubbled up inside of him.

Experience proved to be correct; after only a couple of minutes of the perverse brushing, Soundwave pulled back and stood again. Cliffjumper watched in silence as the Decepticon left the room.

Then, he looked to a seemingly unconscious Rumble on a nearby couch. The recordicon also sported scuff marks; however, his paint also gleamed strangely. In fact, it shone much the same way his own armor did after Soundwave had repainted him.

After a moment, he noticed that a medical access port on the side of Rumble's neck appeared to have been recently opened.

Now he was more than curious. Boggling, the minibot pulled himself out from underneath the desk, made certain the pillow stayed where it was, and then made his way closer to the unmoving cassette.

He was halfway there when the small Decepticon woke up; he did so with a quick, upright shoot, a growl, and a cry. “ _Pit-slaggit_ , boss!"

Cliffjumper stopped, startled.

Rumble folded his arms and seemed to pout.

Cliffjumper stared in absolute bafflement.

Rumble glanced at him for only a moment. Then, he rubbed the back of his neck and closed the medical access port properly. "Stupid… Pit-spawned… Slaggin' motherboard glitch-heads…” He continued to grumble.

Somehow, Cliffjumper found himself faintly amused. Still, whatever it was that may have happened to the cassette wasn't all that important; he doubted Soundwave would do to them what he had been doing to him. However, the nearby cubes quickly became a distraction.

There were two, this time; one had been set for himself, likely, but the other? Had it been left for Rumble? Neither had any markings to indicate which it was for. Was it possible, then, that both were clean and free of additives?

Would Soundwave have spiked them both, despite Rumble taking it as well? Or was this some sort of trick, and Rumble had already fueled?

His fuel tank rumbled, set off just by the sight of the filled, bright pink cubes. He had been surviving on very little fuel, as of late.

As Cliffjumper continued to debate with himself, Rumble pushed himself off of the couch. At the sound, the minibot turned to stare; green optics followed the recordicon as he briskly stomped over, grabbed a cube seemingly at random, and began to drink. As he did so, the cassette continued to mumble obscenities.

Cliffjumper frowned to himself; if it was clean, it would probably be the only chance he would have to get something untainted in his systems. He made his way for it, crawling -- and internally fuming that someone had to see him crawl, Decepticon or not -- and hesitantly took the cube.

A sip was taken. He waited, expecting the rush of heat.

Minutes passed; there was nothing. There was absolutely nothing.

Then, he chugged the cube; he could barely restrain himself from taking it all in one go. It wasn't exactly the finest grade, but it was clean; Cliffjumper found himself incredibly thankful for that much, for something to stave off the starvation that wasn't filled with aphrodisiacs.

"Woah, mech, you're gonna choke." That came from Rumble.

"Shut up." Cliffjumper growled back, even as he tried to gleam any last drops from the cube. "Don't care." He restrained himself from trying to lick the cube clean; he wasn't that desperate. Not yet, anyway.

"Hey." The soft tone that came from the cassette set off a surge of anger deep inside the Autobot prisoner. "Hey, it's okay."

Cliffjumper shot his head up to glare at the recordicon. “ _Okay_?! This is _okay_ to you?!" The anger swelled, but began to shift. Suddenly, emotion began to bubble; breath began to heave. "Frag you, this is _not_ okay!"

“…Uh…” Rumble stared, jaw hung.

'Okay'; it felt like a slap to the face. As if everything that had happened in the past few days should just be accepted. "What, is all of this _normal_ to you people?! Being fragged all the time, not being able to do anything… He fragged me on that Pit-spawned _desk_ yesterday, I can't walk, I…” Breathing was becoming difficult; deep intakes were taken, deep heaves that prevented words. Cliffjumper clutched at his own chest, reflex from the pain the strain against his intake was causing; he looked to the floor.

His fuel tank churned; suddenly, he felt ready to purge. He fought it back; he didn't want to lose what precious fuel he had only just taken in. He shook his head quickly, trying to clear it.

What sounded like a sputter came from Rumble. The minibot heard more than saw the cassette's legs moving around him; Rumble paused for only a moment. Then, he ran to the door and fled from the room.

Cliffjumper was left heaving; it took what felt like a very long time to calm down again.


	15. Sticky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIDTERMS  
> PAPERS  
> AAAH
> 
> AAAAH

Frankly, Cliffjumper was surprised that he hadn't purged. The need to do so came unwanted, fuel tank churning as his processor tumbled against itself. It seemed once he had let that small crack loose and let the memory of the previous day come along, memory of the days before it refused to be ignored. The rage, the pain, the helplessness; the combined assaults tore through his meta with no mercy.

He had been trying to handle each instance as it came along; he had thought it best to simply endure it and to try and forget the rest. Survival had become key; simply surviving each one had seemed like such a good idea.

Apparently, it had not.

It took what felt to be a very long time to get himself under control, fighting the urge to empty his fuel tank the entire time; he couldn't lose what he had already drank for fear that he wouldn't get anything new. Nothing clean, anyway. Who knew when the next untampered cube would get to him? Optics shut down as he doubled over, leaning on his palms. Deep intakes were taken, but he kept his mouth clenched shut.

He had to get out of here.

Waiting for rescue was proving to be more and more impossible as time went on. Every moment that he thought he could do just that, to be patient and wait, Soundwave _did something_ to make him doubt it; the ever-present sedation, the aphrodisiacs in the energon, the Primus-damned telepathy, and now the threat of reprogramming.

Soundwave might try something else, might decide to try and shape him in some other way. Cliffjumper still didn't entirely understand why the Decepticon was doing all this in the way that he was in the first place, but he didn't want to find out what new creative cruelty he might put together.

The more he thought about how he might escape, the more impossible it seemed. The main door was out of the question; walking was still impossible and it was locked besides. Even vehicle mode wouldn't help; this was, after all, the Decepticon home base. Even if, by some miracle, he got out in to the hall again, either Soundwave or some other Decepticon would catch him. He had gotten, what, ten, maybe fifteen kliks in to the hall the last time?

There was only one other way out; green optics lit up and gazed to the vent.

The grate leading to the ventilation system was nestled in the corner, stuck firmly in the ceiling. It was only slightly better off than if it had been in the middle of the room; even disabled in the way that he was, if he could pile things on top of each other, he could perhaps -- _perhaps_ \-- climb up to reach it.

It was something. Better than an absolution, better than no way out. Still, it was something that was going to take a lot of time and effort. If he had been able to move properly, it wouldn't have been nearly as difficult getting the various chairs and cassette-sized tables atop each other. In his current state, his best bet was to crawl across the room, throw things and _then_ make the pile.

Having the start of some sort of plan began to calm him down. Breathing became easier.

This was something that would take time. Hours, maybe; he wasn't sure. Granted, Soundwave seemed to run on a schedule that left him alone for quite a bit of time each day, but he wasn't certain if that would be enough.

A new wave of disgust, hate and fear came with the knowledge that he had been here long enough to figure out the schedule. How long had it been? He hadn't been counting the days since his capture with the others; he hadn't thought he would have to. He hadn't thought he would be here this long.

Although capture had always come with the threat of assault, it had never been described like this. Not with the alterations, the renaming, the _knowing_ that Soundwave intended to attack him on a constant, consistent basis.

He had been here too long, and he wanted to go home.

Cliffjumper shook his head to try and clear it; the fear came far too easily, fueled by anger and hate. He needed to stop that, needed to keep his processor clear. At the very least, he had some sort of plan, now; even if he had to throw the furniture across the room or balance on top of paint cans, he would find a way in to the vent system while Soundwave was gone.

He didn't think that there would be enough time today; he had wasted too long just trying to get himself together.

He needed to last one more day; there was a longer stretch of time in the morning, before Soundwave left the usually tainted cube on the table. Now, he had fresh, clean energon in him and felt stronger than he had in some time; the morning would be the best chance to pull this off.

It was almost certain that Soundwave would attack him again before then, but he could take that. One more attack, one more likely recharge-free night. He could handle that; it would be no different than what he had already been through.

Just one more day; he could handle that.

 

\---------------------

 

Soundwave would come back soon. Cliffjumper knew that; still, he made no attempt to move away from where he already was. In fact, he slept for a while, slipping in to recharge for a sparse couple of hours; he would need it, he knew, with the feeling that he probably wouldn't get any that night.

Besides, there was no where for him to hide or to run to.

The sound of the door sliding open, as soft as it was, woke him up. Once he was coherent enough to register it, he was surprised; did it mean something when the slightest noise interrupted recharge?

Still, it was probably better that it had; Soundwave stalked in, stance stiff and unnatural. A red visor seemed to flare brighter than usual; it took a brief moment to notice the fists clenching at either side.

Soundwave was angry. Upset about something, at the very least. Cliffjumper braced himself for pain, dentals grit as he shrunk against the table he had slept by.

If the Soundwave even noticed, he gave no sign. Instead, he pulled open a drawer in the desk by the door with such force, the metal let out a loud barrage of noise and shook.

At first, Cliffjumper thought that he was going to grab the medical port again, but then noticed that a different drawer had been opened. Instead, some sort of soldering tool was pulled out along with what looked like several pieces of scrap metal. Without a word, the drawer was slammed shut again; Soundwave then sat down at the desk with a hard 'thump'. After a few seconds, sparks began to fly from the table.

Cliffjumper stared in confusion; he had absolutely no idea what was happening. Still, he didn't dare to make a sound; for all appearances, Soundwave seemed to have forgotten he was there. The longer that lasted, the better.

It ended up lasting for quite some time. As the minutes ticked by and more sparks flew, Soundwave seemed to relax; his very form shifted from the stiff anger to something far more calm. Was whatever he was doing some sort of stress relief? Cliffjumper decided that he didn't care; just as long as it wasn't taken out on him.

What was that old saying? Don't look at a gift too close?

It was nearly a half hour until Soundwave stopped. When he did, he calmly set the tools back in the drawer; the scrap metal was left where it was. It wasn't until he turned to stand again did Cliffjumper actually see what he had been doing; the metal was stuck together, melted and reshaped in to what looked like a sculpture. It vaguely resembled an old fashioned house.

_Art?_ Soundwave made _art_ to calm himself? Somehow, this was incredibly disturbing. A psychopath, as far as he was concerned, should not have that _sane_ of a hobby. Shouldn't he be beating something apart or murdering a small and defenseless animal?

Loud footsteps shook him out of contemplation; the Autobot looked up to find that Soundwave was approaching.

Dentals grit again; a green optic gaze turned in to a glare. Here we go, again; one more time.

Somehow, the difference in size was so much more apparent when Soundwave kneeled in front of him; as soon as he was down, the Decepticon's face guard slid aside. Cliffjumper knew what was coming before it did, before Soundwave leaned forward to kiss him. One large blue hand moved to the back of the minibot's head to hold him still; not that he would have fought. Not any more; this was not worth risking his mind for. Small blue and white fists clenched against the floor.

He could handle this molestation; that didn't mean he had to give in to it. Cliffjumper kept his own mouth shut; Soundwave didn't seem to mind. The kiss shifted, moving along the side of his face and down the cables of his neck in slow, shudder-inducing pecks.

Soundwave shifted; one arm moved itself underneath the minibot's legs. The other, still at the back of his head, lowered itself to his back. With that, Cliffjumper found himself carefully lifted in the air, cradled in the Decepticon's arms. He shuddered and shut off his optics; he knew where this was going.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to struggle. He had to restrain himself from doing that; _this was not worth risking his mind for._ He had to remember that.

Soundwave sat him on the edge of the berth. A little unusual; for a moment, Cliffjumper feared that something new and terrible was going to be tried -- something worse then the painful position on the desk --, only to feel that mouth on his frame again, this time on his shoulder. It was strangely calming; Soundwave just wanted a more comfortable position to molest him with. Still terrible, but slightly better than the alternative.

Unconsciously, Cliffjumper set a hand over his nude valve. He hadn't even been aware he was trying to cover it until Soundwave moved his arm aside. Internally, he cursed at the Decepticon's insistence. He wasn't even entirely certain why Soundwave kept him naked; was it just to have easier access to his body? A better view? It reeked of perversion.

Soundwave was still kissing him, trailing that ugly thin mouth along his chest. This was dragging on longer than usual; the past few days had been much shorter in this regard, much more eager to ram his cord inside of him. This prolonged need to touch and feel him was more than a little odd; baffled and worried, Cliffjumper lit up his optics to stare, trying to figure out why Soundwave was stretching this out.

His mouth was getting lower. Too low. Cliffjumper grimaced as Soundwave actually sucked at his lower stomach; the Decepticon then let out a short laugh. The same creepy laugh that was mechanical in all the wrong ways; he could actually feel the echo, the reverberating sound against his own plating. He hated that laugh.

Soundwave had stopped, faceplate disturbingly close to his valve. Was he going to…?

No, he was moving away from it; Cliffjumper let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding when Soundwave moved back upright, standing in front of the berth. A relief, really; it was enough that he assaulted him with his cord on a regular basis, he did not need anything else going in there.

There came a soft click; he knew that sound far too well. Cliffjumper shut off his optics before he caught sight of the extending cord.

Soundwave was probably still just winding down from whatever it was that had upset him. This was still nothing that he hadn't experienced before. Soundwave was probably going to push him back on the berth, now, and frag him as he had done every night since he had been taken from the cell.

A hand lay itself against the top of his head. For several seconds, it stroked him, brushing backwards in-between rounded horns. Cliffjumper grit his dentals again as fury began to rise; the petting practically mocked him, a clear claim that he was property. It was the sort of way someone would affectionally handle a pet or household animal. Still, he said nothing and made no move to pull away from the hand.

The stroking went on; just as Cliffjumper thought that he would explode from the growing anger, it stopped. The hand paused at the back of his helm; then, the grip tightened, holding him head firm.

Something was happening. This was wrong. Why wasn't he being pushed on to the berth? Soundwave's hand was large enough to keep his entire head still with that grip; what was he trying to do? He had already kissed him, had done so for what had felt like a very long time. With the size difference, he couldn't possibly rape him like this; even with the berth giving him some extra height -- he couldn't even reach the floor despite his hanging legs --, Soundwave's cord would, at best, reach only his --

Realization struck hard; optics flared in sudden panic. However, it hit with enough time to clench his mouth shut and raise his hands; the minibot's palms managed to set themselves on much larger thighs, holding them back. The cord hung terrifyingly close. Optics shut down again.

Soundwave didn't try to force it, although he easily could; however, he didn't pull away, either. Everything was quiet, save for a brief, muffled yell of sheer denial. The only thing keeping the Decepticon at bay were the minibots' hands.

He could _not_ let this happen. Rape of his valve was one thing; he had already suffered that and knew what to expect; he could -- he believed he could -- handle that again. His mouth, on the other hand, was different; he hated doing that on a _consensual_ basis. It had always felt disgusting, had always felt weird; even when the cord belonged to someone he _liked._

Feeling it in his valve had been horrible enough; he didn't want it in his mouth. Couldn't Soundwave at least leave that much alone?

The panic was only getting worse, flaring with the need to run; the grip on the back of his head tightened, probably in response to his thoughts. Soundwave could hear him, knew exactly what was going through his head.

There had been a threat.

That's right; there had been a threat. He had told him that he could reprogram him. _That_ was the one thing he couldn't let happen; it would be the end of everything if Soundwave decided to _force_ him to enjoy this.

Was this worth it? Was this resistance worth his mind, his spark?

Soundwave hadn't said a word; he simply held him still. Cliffjumper had the feeling that he was waiting for a decision.

Was stopping this worth losing everything?

No. No, it wasn't.

Slowly, shaking hands were forced back down. Cliffjumper felt as if it took every fiber of his being to force himself to do so.

Optics were still shut down; it made the sensation of the tip pressing itself against his lips all the worse. It took his frame much more convincing to open his mouth than it had to set down his hands. He almost choked when it went in.

Breathe; he had to breathe. Slow and steady, but not with his mouth; he just had to keep his optics off and breathe. Let Soundwave do this, endure it, and survive. The hand was still on his head; he didn't even have to control that himself. Just let Soundwave take complete control and wait for it to be over. He could ventilate from other places; it wasn’t comfortable, but he could.

The internal mantra helped; at least, it proved a distracting from the suffocating, horrible mass filling his mouth and pressing against the back of his throat. The hand on the back of his head forced his helm to tilt back, forcing the cord further in; it went far beyond anything remotely close to comfortable. The cord went in slow, taking the same care as it did with his valve.

Why? Why was he going to slow? Could his throat be torn like this, the same way his valve could? Pit, he hoped not.

Soundwave moaned from above him. Cliffjumper shook in a barely restrained mix of fear and hate.

"Carerra."

That _name_ again. He hated that name. For as long as he functioned, Cliffjumper had the feeling he would loathe that name; he never even met the bot that it belonged to, and he was starting to hate him just from attachment.

He couldn't breathe. This wasn’t right; he couldn't get enough cool air in to his intakes. His secondary vents couldn’t keep up, sore from disuse as they were. It felt as if Soundwave's cord was too large; it clogged everything, pressing up against his internal lining in a way that bordered on painful. His fans turned on.

Soundwave pulled his cord out; not all the way, but it freed up just enough space to get a fresh gulp of air. Cliffjumper practically gasped; he hadn't known he could heat up that quickly and certainly not from something like this.

The respite didn't last long; Soundwave began to push in again, faster, this time. The hand holding his head forced him to move, forcing the cord to twitch and bob ever so slightly. A shudder coursed through him at the feeling of it against his glossa. Fists clutched the edge of the berth.

He could take this. There was a horrid rhythm to it; he just had to take deep breaths when he could to avoid overheating and to try very hard not to _bite_. No matter how much he would have liked to tear that thing off, he couldn't bite; he had to survive this and that was that. He had to endure.

The thrusts began to quicken; with it came pain. The lining of his throat was rubbed against with a horrid friction; his glossa even began to ache with the pressure. The pain was nothing compared to the agony his valve would have felt -- had felt before --, but it was horrible in it's own sort of way; it was disgusting in every sense of the word. He _loathed_ it.

One day, he was going to kill him. When he was out of here, the first thing he would do was plan a way to kill him. He was going to get him back for this; he was going to get him back for everything.

Soundwave overloaded; it was a shock when he did. Cliffjumper had focused on breathing to the point, had lost himself in simply keeping himself stable, that he had forgotten to watch for it. The sudden rush of liquid choked his filters; he could actually feel it as it slid down his throat. It itched horribly; he gagged and choked, coughing before the cord was even out of his mouth.

Once Soundwave was out -- fully out, this time, not only the halfway stance he took during interface --, the minibot doubled over, clutching his throat as he gagged. He hadn't intended to swallow; he had known, at the start, that the transfluid would get in to his throat. He had hoped that he would be able to spit it out.

Soundwave stepped away. Cliffjumper didn't look up to see where he went. It wasn't until his coughing began to die down -- forced back with the hope not to purge, transfluid in his fuel tank or not -- that hands grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him back to the berth.

For a moment, Cliffjumper struggled; he flailed against the grip, still heaving from the aftermath of the oral assault. It took arms wrapping themselves around him, holding him still, for the minibot to stop.

Soundwave held him. The face guard was in place again, but he somehow appeared pleased.

Cliffjumper stared with wide optics, panic trickling through him. He waited for some new horror to happen, silent but afraid.

It didn't come. Instead, Soundwave curled up around the restrained minibot, holding him close. The Decepticon buried his face against his prisoners' helm. Slowly, his systems began to wind down; Soundwave began to drift in to recharge.

Several seconds after he did, the lights shut off and everything was dark.


	16. Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, spring break.
> 
> I HAVE TIME TO POST A THING. Even though I doubt I have more than like three readers.

It felt like far too long before Soundwave began to move again.

It had become a small agony in itself to wait for the Decepticon to stir. Recent sleepless nights spent either underneath the large blue frame or outright impaled by it left Cliffjumper with nothing to focus on but his own thoughts. More often than not, even his own processor didn't allow him any peace; his mind spun with too many what-ifs, too many unanswered questions and far too much fear wrapping itself around it all.

Fear; he was now ready to admit he had been feeling that. Especially with that _threat_ , the knowledge that, at any time, Soundwave could literally take his mind from him. He couldn't stop thinking about it; it was an ever-present plague in his thoughts. He wished he hadn't learned about it; a few days before, everything had been so much simpler.

It was amazing how quickly the situation had changed. A few meager days -- a few scant solar cycles -- had separated 'give them slag' and ‘don’t fight’. A single threat had shifted things from rebellion to cowed horror.

Cliffjumper had really thought that he had been better than that. He was learning things; not only about Soundwave's sick habits, but things about himself that he wished he had never known.

It didn't matter; at least, not for now. Soundwave was moving, taking his time to unwrap his arms from the much smaller frame. His prisoner did nothing except for shrink back against the berth.

Stand down and retreat; wait for Soundwave to leave. He would, as he had in the days before. Then, he would be left to himself again. Cliffjumper didn't even online his optics, not even when a hand brushed his cheek with deceptive tenderness. _Deceptive_ ; he could have laughed.

The berth shifted. It didn't take long for the footsteps to begin; every step sounded loud in the silence. Then, the door slid open and closed.

It wasn't until Cliffjumper was absolutely certain that Soundwave was gone did he light up his optics again. The green haze disoriented him for a moment; he had a feeling that it always would. It was far too different from the blue that he had been used to, the blue that he had always known.

The room was empty. It was time to move.

Cliffjumper let out a grunt as he swung his legs over the side of the berth. The entire lower half of his body hadn't stopped aching since the first attack; a moment was spent staring at the floor. Even sitting on the very edge of the thin fabric, his legs swinging in empty air, hurt. Every time he moved to the floor, his frame always collapsed from underneath him; it was a terrible, uncomfortable jarring every single time.

With a sigh, he pushed himself off of the berth. The bottom of his feet hit the floor; he swayed, expecting the inevitable collapse.

It didn't come. Instead, he simply shifted in place, automatically taking a wider stance. His legs trembled, but held firm.

He was _standing_. 

Cliffjumper stared down at himself in a mix of shock and wonder; had his auto-repair somehow worked overtime? Had it just adjusted to the situation? With the frequent assaults, he had expected to be unable to walk at all for the duration of his captivity.

It took a brief second to recall the night before. His valve hadn't been attacked, this time; that region of his body had not been abused. Cliffjumper gulped and shut off his optics as the memory file holding the most recent assault came to the forefront of his processor.

A deep breath was taken; now was not the time. No matter what was now giving him the ability to stand, he couldn't waste it. He had to move. A quick shake of his head brought the present back in to focus.

After several experimental steps -- and a single collapse that didn’t ache nearly as much as usual --, Cliffjumper discovered that, as long as he took a very wide, waddle-like pace, he could, in fact, walk. Anything less than the widest he could stretch his legs apart while still being upright led to failure; he didn't know what that meant medically. Ratchet would probably throw a fit when he got back.

When he got back. He would get back. There was a shot, this time.

The chair by the desk had wheels; it would be the easiest thing to move along. It might even help him with the whole ‘walking’ thing. With said newfound ability, it took barely a few minutes to get to it. The wheels, however, did have the danger of possibly moving aside when he would eventually climb on it; he wondered if the paint cans would be heavy enough to stop the chair from moving. He opened a drawer to get them.

At first, the wrong drawer was opened; a smaller one holding not much more than small clips and tools. At first, Cliffjumper nearly closed it shut, only to perform a double take as a glint of light caught his optic.

A set of screwdrivers lay in a pouch inside the drawer. After some thought, Cliffjumper wondered if the grate in the ceiling might be screwed in to place. With nothing really to lose, he grabbed the pouch and shoved it in to his subspace.

The paint cans were quickly found and stacked on top of the chair. Then, Cliffjumper pushed and pulled; thankfully, there was no carpet or rugs in the way, though those had been pretty rare on Cybertron. Even with his strange stance, it didn't take long to bring the chair to where he wanted it to be; the back of the chair was set against the wall and paint cans dropped next to the wheels.

This was going faster than expected. Cliffjumper grinned to himself before turning back to find what else he could find.

\-------

 

In the end, Cliffjumper was glad for the miniature furniture spread around the room. Most of them had wheels. They wound up being easy enough to get in to place.

It had taken what felt like no time at all to get everything set up. Even with the ache in his valve, it all felt… Quick. Simple. A bit too simple, in fact. By the time he had climbed up to set a miniature couch on the last legs of the small mountain, Cliffjumper began to worry that Soundwave knew what he had been up to and was setting him up.

However, he didn't back down. If Soundwave knew, he would have stopped him by now. He was far too close to getting in to the vents.

In fact, he balanced at the top, delicately perched on the couch as the doubt began to trickle in. The entire stack wobbled beneath him; he actually touched the vent before he noticed how it was held in to place.

The grin returned; earlier suspicion had been correct. The pouch of screwdrivers were pulled out of subspace and inspected; then, the one that matched closest was pulled out and put to use.

Two tiny screws fell around him with the sound of metal meeting metal. Then, the grate was pulled open and extracted from the wall. Cliffjumper tossed it behind him before crawling inside.

The vent was only large enough to crawl; had he been made of a larger frame, he probably wouldn't have even been able to fit inside. Cliffjumper smirked to himself; no wonder Bumblebee was never caught on his spying expeditions.

Thinking of his fellow minibot, he tried to bring to mind what little that he could remember; all that he had to go on were snippets of conversations about this place. Sharing a room with the special ops agent had brought up curious questions, though; particularly when the ordinarily yellow mech came home bearing scratches and dents and ranting about Decepticon habits.

What was it that Bumblebee had always said about the vents? That the only way in and out was from the cooling center? Bumblebee’s biggest rant was about the temperature changes there. Where the cooling center was, though, Cliffjumper really had no idea.

Still, here he was, and he couldn't back out now. So, he moved forward, crawling through the vents with the hope that he would simply figure it out.

 

\-------

 

Cliffjumper had absolutely no idea where he was going.

It took about an hour to reach that thought. He aimlessly made his way through the vent system, moving as silently as he thought he could go and trying to ignore the pain emanating from the junction between his legs led him to believe that the Decepticon base was, by far, much more confusing than it needed to be.

He hadn't thought that it would be this difficult. Granted, he had no map to run on and had never been inside the ventilation system before, but he had thought that there would be some way to figure it out. Most ships were based on a grid pattern. Wasn’t this a ship? Bumblebee had said that the cooling center pumped air all over the place; those were usually smack dab in the middle of the ship. Usually. This one wasn’t.

Now, he had no idea where he was and was running out of time. He wondered if, perhaps, he could hide in the vents indefinitely; hide out until help really did arrive. Could Soundwave track him by his thoughts? Just walk around the Decepticon base until he picked it up? Was that a thing?

There was no where to go but forward. He had no choice; he couldn't find his way back, now, even if he had wanted to.

Another burst of cool air hit him from a new direction; a nearby bend in the vent came with it. As he passed by a grate in the floor, he peered through to try and see if the room it led to resembled anything that he was looking for. Never mind that he had absolutely no idea what a cooling center even looked like; he had only ever bothered to see the ARK’s once.

Unfortunately -- and like every other vent he had checked since he had gotten out of Soundwave's room -- it wasn't what he was hoping for. Another private room; a berth, messily scattered datapads, and what looked like an old, empty energon cube. With a quiet sigh, he shuffled past it and moved on.

He wondered how long could he keep this up.

 

\---------

 

Eventually, he found it. It had taken a gust of air so strong that it nearly pushed him backwards to do it, but he had found it. At least, he hoped that this was it.

It was an incredibly large room with a similarly gigantic vent; he had to kick it to get it to pop open. Thankfully, there were no Decepticons in the room; he didn't know what he would have done had there been any.

Even from the vent, the large windows inside the room were easily visible. The sight of the water outside -- so much more clearly than the tiny porthole he had looked through before -- sparked an eagerness inside of him. In his haste, the minibot pushed himself through the vent to fall through the floor.

As soon as he landed, Cliffjumper knew that it had been a stupid, stupid idea; his legs, which had been working with him so well up to that point, decided to finally collapse from the weight of the fall. He nearly swore aloud from the sudden rattling pain from his valve; instead, he grit his teeth and held back the scream. He didn't know if anyone was in the halls; he had to be quiet.

Slowly, he staggered back upright using the wall for support and looked around.

There wasn't much to see. A single, incredibly large machine with vents connected to it filled most of the room. Against the wall near it lay large, expansive windows. Other than that, there was nothing save for the wheeze of the pumps.

Now, how did Bumblebee manage this? Cliffjumper had to strain to remember; his friend had said something about a grate that led to the outside water. From there, the yellow Autobot had swam to the surface. The Decepticons, as far as anyone knew, had never even known Bumblebee frequently spied on them.

With a deep frown, Cliffjumper crawled to the large machine. Walking, now, was out of the question. A look around it gave no sign of any sort of grate or manner to escape through.

Perhaps it was by the windows. The formerly red minibot moved to the wall, optics gazing over in growing desperation.

How did Bumblebee even do this? There was nothing that he could see. He moved closer, pressing his hands against the wall in the attempt to find some hidden hatches or loose segment.

Then, the alarms went off.

He had only been searching for a couple of minutes when it did. The sudden blaring of the klaxons caused the minibot to jump, optics darting around in panic. Overhead lights even lit the room in red.

What had happened? Had Soundwave finally noticed he was missing? Perhaps it wasn't even about him; maybe there was some other altercation. With any luck, it was a call to battle and everyone would leave.

"Prisoner escape!" Someone yelled over the intercoms. "Prisoner escape!"

Panic flared anew; well, that was _absolutely_ about him. The Decepticons didn't _have_ any other prisoners as far as he knew.

Fueled by growing terror, he hurriedly moved his hands over the wall, hoping to find the exit. He had to get out; he was so close, there had to be something.

He couldn't find anything; there was only smooth metal walls.

This wasn't going to work. There had to be another way out of here, but the only way out was by the windows, and Cliffjumper seriously doubted that those could be opened.

Still, it was the only way left. Desperate, the minibot pulled out the only thing that he had in his subspace as he rushed to the nearest window. The pack of screwdrivers were slammed against the glass. The pointed ends were driven against it as hard as he could with as much speed as he could bring to it.

The alarms were still blaring. The glass chipped under the first blow; hope began to rise when he noticed it. Cliffjumper continued to bang against it; a few more slams -- and the breaking of one of the screwdrivers -- brought a visible crack in the surface.

This was working. This was actually working.

There came shouting from the hall. Cliffjumper glanced back at the noise; a closed door was all that separated him from whoever was out there.

It wouldn't be long until someone noticed he was in here. He clobbered against the glass all the faster for it.

The glass broke. Cliffjumper stopped, expecting a rush of water; instead, nothing happened. Baffled, he stuck his fingers inside to break the glass further, tearing out glass chunks that tore in to his dermal plating. He had to stretch his hand all the way inside to find the second pane of glass blocking his way.

This time, he did swear aloud. Of course there would have been a safeguard; this place had been designed for space, after all.

The shouting was growing louder. He half climbed through the hole he had made to try and break through the second window.

Another screwdriver broke, but the metal base was still holding. Cliffjumper struck what he had left against the glass; he was _this close_ to getting out…!

The glass cracked.

The door behind him slid open.

"What the frag?!" He didn't recognize the voice; still, it didn't make him stop.

The crack grew; segments began to tremble. Cliffjumper slammed the screwdrivers in to what moved.

Then, water began to rush in. It struck the minibot in the face and pushed him back. Curses and yells of surprise came from behind him; he had to grab on to the broken pieces to resist the rush of water against him. Enough glass from the first window remained intact to keep him from being pushed out completely; it was all that kept him where he was.

He was so close. He just had to get through, swim out, and he was out of here!

Decepticons were alternatively screaming and swearing; despite the growing rush of water and falling glass, he could hear the splashes and footfalls of several people trying to get to him.

He couldn't let that happen. Not this close.

Cliffjumper pulled at the breaking wall of glass, wincing at the pain caused by grabbing on to shattered sharp edges. He could feel the broken fuel lines in his hands; he ignored it, gripping with energon and water soaked hands to pull against the incoming water.

His head was the first thing to meet the ocean proper. Then, he stretched a hand through and spread it, trying to grip the side of the ship itself. His legs pushed against the breaking window behind him, trying to gain some leverage; the water pushed against him just as hard. It flooded the room behind him, trying to push him back inside.

Something grabbed his leg.

Cliffjumper screamed against the water; he kicked at whatever held, trying to loosen the grip. It pulled; another hand -- and it had to be a hand -- grabbed for his hip.

He was too close! Far too close; he couldn't go back, not this close!

The water pushed against him; the hand pulled him from behind. Cliffjumper scrabbled against metal and glass, trying to gain some purchase for his freedom.

The glass beneath an arm broke; the hands pulled hard. He screamed in to the water again as he was pulled back and away from his escape. Still, he struggled, flailing against whatever held him with everything that he had. For a moment, he got loose and moved for the water again; then, a bear hug grip grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms against his body. He was lifted in to the air; he kicked and screamed again.

There came a loud, rumbling noise; a thick, steel barricade slid out from the wall and closed itself over the broken glass. The flood of water stopped.

It wasn't until the metal let out a loud bang did Cliffjumper truly understand what had happened; the hole was blocked. It took a moment for it to set in. Then, he began to shake. "No, no, no, no…”

A hiss of familiar air -- a breath with the undertone of an echo -- came from above him. The minibot looked up with sharp alarm, taking in the masked faceplate of the Decepticon that held him; Soundwave.

All at once, rage flared. He bucked and kicked, trying to get himself out of the blue armed grip. _”No!”_ A long, feral scream. "Get _off_ of me, let me go, _let me go!”_

He didn't stop screaming. Cliffjumper found that he _couldn't_ stop screaming.

There came a rumble from the chest behind him; Soundwave had said something that he didn't hear past his own cries. Then, they were moving; Soundwave dragged him along, pulling him through the halls.

Cliffjumper continued to scream and thrash; it did nothing to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sad trombones*

**Author's Note:**

> Next part tomorrow or in a few days. Whee!


End file.
